


A Sounder of Swine

by FMB



Series: The Thinning AU [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), The Thinning (2016)
Genre: (but not really), (only between Credence and Grindelwald), Angst and Porn, Consensual Underage Sex, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Credence goes under a different name for a majority of the fic, Depressed Newt, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Original Percival Graves Needs a Hug, Protective Original Percival Graves, Sad Credence Barebone, The Thinning AU, Threats of Violence, Threesome - M/M/M, kudos and comments appreciated, sequels are always worse than the original, you know what they say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-01-07 19:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 97,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12238902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FMB/pseuds/FMB
Summary: Strongly recommended that you read The Thinning first, or else this will start off confusing and end even more confusing.Immediately following Credence's 10-241 failure and subsequent death, Newt must learn to conform to America's culling system, though he seriously struggles to. Percival, an experienced and well-practiced conformist, tries his best to guide Newt through his grief.





	1. The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaleido_dance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaleido_dance/gifts).



> Please read The Thinning before continuing with this fic. This will make a lot more sense if you begin with that. If you start here, not only will you spoil the first fic, but it will most likely be a confusing maelstrom of world-building and angst.
> 
> Going to go chaptered because I'm 70 pages in and I know no one but me would actually want to sit down and read a 50k fic in one sitting. Plus, chapters will probably make it easier to find where you left off, or so I'm told.
> 
> Good luck, buds.

The floor was shaking. A low, mechanical groan echoing. It smelled like sweat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bodies were piled up on one another. It was hot and damp and uncomfortable. Someone underneath began to shift, making the rest of them grumble.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It's time to get up.” Came a harsh voice, striking against the metal cage they were in until they were all awake and alert, looking around in confusion. Weakly, they began to push themselves up onto their feet. Some wobbled and knocked into each other, a few others merely clung to the cage bars for support.

“Get a move on, swine,” A cruel voice commanded, herding seventeen from the cage and onto an elevated walkway made of metal, the rigged edges pressing hard against their feet.

They were stripped once again, hosed down in freezing cold water, went through horribly intimate and humiliating body searches, and then, naked, they were filed into a large room, at least four stories tall and endlessly wide. In long, neat, unbroken rows were tables. Behind those tables were others like them. The Failures.

They were marched through the building, walking in a straight line between the tables, each one of them taking this humiliating walk differently. Some cried. Others kept their chins up. The rest were merely confused, thinking to themselves that this definitely wasn't Heaven or Hell. The Failures behind the tables briefly watched them pass, but they didn't gape for long. They had work to do, and when one of them delayed even a few seconds, a soldier walked up to her table and rapped his nightstick on her table, making her shriek and speed up.

“Evan Stevenson, suitable” A soldier remarked as he walked down the line of naked teenagers, her eyes not lingering on any of them, “Delilah Stone, suitable. Christian Mellark...” She paused, looking over the student once again, and with a slight hum, she scribbled down a note before saying, “Banged up, but suitable.” She continued down, “Christine Baker, suitable. Donna Farfield, suitable. Credence Barebone,” She stopped once again, looking at him twice, frowning impatiently. “Damaged.”

Everyone but Credence was lead forward. Credence was kept where he was, nude, cold, afraid, and surrounded by armed soldiers. He barely lifted his head, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for something to happen. He wasn't left waiting for long when the sound of heavy boots on the metal floor began echoing through the room. He didn't turn around. Somehow, he already knew what was coming for him.

“We meet again,” His cold voice echoed in the halls, the workers at the tables behind them barely glancing up, “Credence Barebone. Ilvermorny's failure that almost got away. It's so... satisfying to see you here.” Hands grasped Credence by his waist, eliciting a gasp from the boy, and they slowly made his way up his ribs. When a hot breath fanned over Credence's neck, he merely squeezed his eyes shut. “It was supposed to be your little boyfriend down here, working away the rest of his life like a slave, four hours of sleep a day, two meager meals, no rest until he died... But this... this is even _better_.” A slow kiss on his skin, making Credence cringe away, and he whispered darkly, “Nobody is going to look for you. You are mine.”

Far below ground, Credence was lead in a different direction from the others. The soldiers still followed him, but Grindelwald was leading them forward. He walked with a purpose while Credence shuffled along, being forced forward by the officers when he fell too far behind. When the rows of tables and workers were left behind them, Credence finally felt the courage to ask, “Where am I?”

“Doesn't matter, does it?” Grindelwald replied casually, “To the rest of the world, you're dead. This might as well be your Hell.” He turned, then, smoothly walking backward, and he said with a smirk, “Or your Heaven, depending on how you play your cards.”

He faced forward again, picking up his pace a bit, and Credence grunted as he was forced to keep up. They went up a series of metal stairs, the jagged teeth digging into the bottom of his feet, and soon entered a dimly lit hallway with reinforced metal doors dotting along them. Grindelwald continued to walk, however, only pausing in front of the very last door at the end of the hallway. Shucking off his glove, Grindelwald pressed his thumb against a sensor beside the door. Credence watched with a frown as the scanner followed his thumbprint, illuminating it for only a moment, then beeped in recognition. The door began to open itself, sliding into the wall with a grating noise, and Grindelwald slowly pulled his glove back on.

As soon as the door was open, Grindelwald stepped inside, and the guards only pushed Credence in after him, though none of them followed. Credence staggered forward with a gasp, dropping to his knees with a wince, then flinched when the door slid back shut. From inside the room, Credence could see the locking mechanism within the door slide into place.

Knowing he was locked inside, Credence slowly took in his surroundings. He seemed to be in an apartment, the floor wood instead of metal, comfortable furniture in place, a kitchenette and a hallway across the way. He could see a sliver of a bedroom at the end of it, but that was all. Grindelwald had strutted across the room, making himself comfortable on the armchair facing Credence.

“Let's discuss something, Credence.” Grindelwald said, lifting his brows, “Please, come have a seat.” He gestured openly to the couch across from him. Credence glanced towards it hesitantly, but he got to his feet and slowly stepped towards the couch. He regarded the soft-looking fabric with a frown, wondered if it would really be okay to sit when he was still nude, but he did so anyway. Still, he remained stiff as stone and ready to spring to his feet at a moment's notice. Grindelwald watched him the entire time, a small smirk on his lips. “Comfortable?”

Credence ducked his head but hesitantly nodded. He didn't know where he was or why he was here instead of dead, but he figured if he was going to be stuck here, he might as well remain on Grindelwald's good side. “Th-thank you, sir.” Credence whispered in a rough voice. Grindelwald's smile widened.

“I understand you must be very confused,” Grindelwald began, leaning back comfortably in his armchair, “You're probably wondering why you aren't dead right now. Why none of you are. The simple answer is: It's not your business to know. You're alive, that's all that matters. You better be grateful for it.”

Crossing his legs, Grindelwald continued to say, “I bet you're also wondering why you weren't taken with the rest of those failures. Why you were deemed 'damaged.' And that's simply because I wanted you alone. All 'damaged' goods I see to personally for review. If they are redeemable, we help them recuperate. If not... well, we have to feed the mouths down here one way or another.”

Credence clenched his jaw tight, and Grindelwald grinned, feral.

“But you were marked 'damaged' for a different reason. Damaged goods are often placed in special positions down here. Janitorial crew, test subjects, freight, things that we wouldn't want to waste our more capable sacrifices on. And as a damaged good, I get to decide exactly what position will be best for you.”

Credence cringed, already trying to guess what Grindelwald wanted to do with him. Maybe he'd put him on the janitorial crew just because he could, just because Credence was no better than the scum he cleaned. He didn't utter a word about it, though. There was no way he was going to influence this man to change his decision.

“But I've decided to be kind,” Grindelwald stated, and Credence glanced up at him again, curious. The shit-eating grin on his face wasn't reassuring at all. “I'll give you a choice. You can either agree to be my personal assistant, which means you will be at my side at all times, obey my command, and be treated like a little doll in this horrible inescapable prison... or you can be a part of the... entertainment crew.”

Credence furrowed his brows, a silent question that Grindelwald was all too eager to answer. “My soldiers need a little downtime every once-in-a-while. What better way than to offer a piece of flesh for them to take their anger out on?”

Credence shuddered, suddenly feeling sick. So much for a choice, he thought. All this was was an attempt at giving Credence the illusion of freedom, the illusion of choosing his own fate. It really wasn't a question, it was a demand. A threat. And Credence was expected to choose the right one.

But Credence was stupid. He had to earn his free passes for a reason. And, like any other Failure down here, he hoped that there was another way. “C-Can't I work like the others? At the... tables?”

Grindelwald sighed, looking annoyed, and he simply said, “Such a position can only be filled by those who are not damaged.”

“But you said--”

“I gave you two choices, Credence. Don't make me decide for you.” Grindelwald growled, and Credence glanced up at him briefly before looking back down at his naked thighs. He thought about it quietly, trying to figure out what would be best; being the personal and willing partner to probably the worst man he's ever met, or suffer the abuse of more than a hundred adrenaline-driven soldiers prone to violence. Both ways, he would be unfaithful to his lovers... but he figured that doesn't matter anymore. Wherever he was, he was gone from them. To whoever remained, he was dead. And if he were no longer alive, then why should he make himself suffer for his lovers' benefit.

He had already whored himself out to a man to stay alive. Even if he thought it was love at one point... it would be no different from surviving down here. And maybe... maybe he could learn to love again.

Nervously, Credence peered up at Grindelwald, sitting across from him regally, legs crossed and back straight, eyes gazing down at him like he were a king and Credence merely a waif. He would have to learn what this man liked, what made him tick. He had to learn how to control him by giving him control. He would survive down here no matter what. He would survive and he will figure out how to escape, if it was even possible.

Taking a deep breath, Credence whispered, “I-I can be your... your assistant, sir. If... If you'll let me, sir.”

Grindelwald looked like he might as well have won the lottery. Credence didn't understand why. Didn't he know Credence would prefer to be raped by one man instead of hundreds?

It wasn't rape, he thought to himself. He would enjoy it. He would be happy with it. He will learn to love him just like he had with Percival. He closed his eyes, feeling them burn. He would have to stop thinking about Percival first.

“You've made the right choice,” Grindelwald assured him, getting up from his seat, “Come. Let's get you dressed.”

Credence let out a breath, then got to his feet and followed after him, desperate to be clothed once again.

He followed Grindelwald across the room, down the narrow hall, and into his bedroom. The bed was large, could comfortably fit the two of them, and the décor was rich but tasteful. Grindelwald went to a double door to their right, opening it up to expose a walk-in closet. If all of these outfits were Grindelwald's, then Credence was certain he wouldn't fit in any of them.

But instead of rifling through his many suits and coats, he went straight to the back where a wooden trunk sat, pulling it open and reaching inside. Credence waited a few steps behind him. He didn't want to crowd Grindelwald, not when he wasn't used to his patterns yet. Plus, he wasn't even sure if Grindelwald would want Credence to cling to him like an infirm child. He kept his hands down, covering his indecency, and flinched when Grindelwald suddenly turned around. He was holding out a few folded pieces of clothing, urging Credence with a calm, “Get dressed. Quickly.”

“Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Credence rattled off, taking the clothes from the man and immediately unraveling them. The soft, black flannel pants were loose on his legs, but the drawstrings tightened the waistline to his hips so they wouldn't fall. They were smooth and breezy like sleep pants, easy to remove, Credence figured. The long-sleeved shirt was also black, but much thinner. When Credence slipped it on, he realized with a shock that the material was nearly see-through, translucent enough to show off the shape of his body, even under the baggy material. Luckily, the details of his body were still hidden, but Credence figured that a shirt like this would do nothing to deflect Grindelwald's touch.

When Credence turned around, he saw Grindelwald was watching him. His breath caught in his throat and he quickly ducked his head, standing rigidly. He didn't move until Grindelwald was pushing something against his chest. Reaching up, Credence slowly took the black leather boots and ankle-high socks from him, blinking in surprise. He glanced up at Grindelwald to be sure, but the man didn't offer him any reassurance. Even slower, Credence lowered himself to the floor, then slowly pulled on the socks and shoes. He was surprised to find that the boots fit, and once they were tied, he got back up.

“And finally,” Grindelwald said calmly, pulling out armor akin to that of the soldiers and the campus officers. There thick shoulder pads, a bullet-proof vest, and Kevlar gloves. He pulled the gloves on first, then the vest, then the shoulder pads, and immediately felt bulky and ridiculous. He was immensely skinny, not at all physically thick with muscle like the other soldiers. Grindelwald seemed to think the same thing because a moment later, he was humming in distaste.

“This will work for now.” He decided with a sigh, closing the trunk behind him, “I'd want you to be dressed differently from the rest of my men, anyways. Just so I can pick you out easier.”

Credence didn't understand, not really. If he was supposed to be Grindelwald's assistant, why would he be wearing armor? It would just make it easier for Credence to fight him off. He glanced at Grindelwald as the man stepped around him, deciding to just keep quiet about it. His opinion didn't matter, and even if it did, he didn't want to point out any flaws to Grindelwald. Anything that would keep him a layer of clothing away, the better.

“Come along, Credence. There is much for you to learn.” Grindelwald declared, and Credence hurried after him, making sure he remained a few steps behind.

They exited Grindelwald's apartment, the door locking behind them and the DNA scanner glowing red. Credence frowned the slightest bit at the sight, but turned his head forward and resumed walking. As they walked down the hall, Grindelwald began to speak, “As my assistant, I will expect many things from you. If you do not perform to my expectations, you will be punished. I expect you to carry out my every command, my wishes, my desires. Everything you do or say will be an extension of me. That being said...”

Grindelwald paused at the very top of the staircase leading down to the work halls, and looked directly at Credence, “If you ever embarrass me, intentionally or not, I will make sure you regret it. Do you understand?”

Credence nodded stiffly, but when Grindelwald didn't seem pleased, he said in a hoarse voice, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Grindelwald murmured, turning back around, “Come.”

They continued down the steps quickly, Grindelwald walking down them with grace while Credence clung to the rail, horribly off-balance. They made it to the bottom with no injuries, however, and Grindelwald began to walk down the line of workers. Credence looked over them in interest, his brow furrowing when he realized they were putting together different electronic parts. The further they walked, the more intricate the pieces became, until Credence came upon the workers that were putting the pieces together.

At the very end of the room, a row of younger Failures were putting the finished tablets into styrofoam boxes, sealing them up with the company logo for Assuru Global.

That was the very same company that manufactured the tablets used specifically for the 10-241.

Credence gasped when Grindelwald called for him to hurry up, and he quickly pushed the thought out of his mind. Picking up the pace, they left the work hall and entered a different room, sanctioned off by a large metal door. This one was opened by a key card similar to those the school faculty used.

They stepped inside just as the doors slid open, Credence right behind, but the boy staggered to a stop when he saw what was happening.

This room must have been for onboarding new Failures, for the remaining sixteen students chosen for the Thinning from Credence's school were standing in a line, dressed in thick, shapeless white smocks like the rest of the workers, and being branded with the Assuru logo, an open hand with a lower case 'a' in the center. The brand was pressed into their wrist, and each one of them cried out in pain as it was applied. Grindelwald walked forward, supervising their progress. Credence could only stumble towards him, his eyes glued to the students he only vaguely remembered. As he went, a few of the students glanced up, their eyes wet and faces twisted in pain, until one of them recognized him.

“Hey... Hey!” The boy shouted, Evan, if he recalled correctly. Evan launched forward, grabbing Credence by the straps of his bullet-proof vest tightly, and yelling, “What the fuck is this?! He was damaged! How was he made into a soldier if he was damaged?!”

Credence didn't respond, his eyes wide and his body stiff. Grindelwald took a step closer, his eyes narrowing, but he didn't immediately do anything. Instead, he made a gesture to one of the nearby soldiers, who nodded briefly and slowly pulled out a taser.

“This is bullshit!” Evan shouted, pushing Credence roughly, shaking the boy down until Credence was whimpering.

“S-sir!” He yelped, looking to Grindelwald for help. He saw the man smirk, saw his eyes glint in sadistic pleasure, and then Evan went absolutely rigid. A sick, gurgling noise came from his mouth, his body seizing. Credence watched in horror as Evan's eyes went wide right in front of him, then rolled back into his head. He watched as the soldier filled Evan's body with fifty thousand volts for what felt like minutes, but was only about five seconds. When the soldier pulled back, Evan collapsed to the ground, his fingers slipping from Credence's vest.

“Hm.” Grindelwald was behind Credence, looking over his shoulder at the Failure, before he looked up to the soldier who had tased him, “Lobotomize him.”

“Wh—what?” Credence gasped, looking back at Grindelwald, then spinning around as the soldier tossed Evan over his shoulder and carried him away, “No! Wait!”

He was about to launch himself forward, try to stop the soldier carrying Evan, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him before he could even lurch. He turned back to Grindelwald, terrified of his man, and before Grindelwald could say anything, Credence stated, “Lobotomy has been prohibited, sir. Th-there is no good reason to perform such a procedure. It—It would render him useless to you.”

Grindelwald lifted a brow, held up a hand, and the soldier holding Evan paused. “Explain,” He bid Credence, staring down at the boy. Credence licked his lips anxiously, lowered his head, and felt himself grow nervous.

“I—I don't....” He stopped. He couldn't be like this if he wanted to save Evan from a life-changing surgery. He had to be certain of himself, of his knowledge, even though, deep down, he knew he was a stupid young man. Sucking in a long breath, Credence closed his eyes and tried to focus on what he remembered about it.

Looking up at Grindelwald again, Credence recited, “A lobotomy will sever the connection to the prefrontal cortex--”

“I know how it works,” Grindelwald sneered, but Credence only pressed on, raising his voice a bit.

“--which is responsible for coordination, impulse control, focus, and prioritizing tasks.” Credence finished, but Grindelwald still seemed unimpressed.

“It will also affect his boorish personality. We can't have some self-righteous boy raising hell in the factory.” Grindelwald huffed, lifting a hand and about to wave the soldier away, but Credence's own hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist.

“F-from what I've seen, you need your workers to be able to focus and prioritize. You need them to have coordination, attention to detail. Even if you put him on the packing line, production will suffer.” Credence stated, and Grindelwald gave him a wild look.

“If you think you're so smart, then what would _you_ do with this swine?”

Credence hesitated, his brows furrowing, and he looked away as he thought about it. Grindelwald waited for only a few moments before he tore his hand away from Credence's and gestured for the soldier to continue forward. Credence looked back at them, at Evan hanging unconscious over the soldier's shoulder, and he felt his heart pound. He couldn't save him. He couldn't stop the procedure. Evan would be changed, set up to fail, and then killed just because he lashed out once.

Just because he wanted to be a soldier.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Credence turned back to Grindelwald and said, “Make him a soldier.”

“Excuse me?” Grindelwald sneered, and although he didn't signal for it, the soldier carrying Evan paused and turned back around.

“He wants to be a soldier. He has the temperament of a soldier. He can fight like a soldier. Make him a soldier.” Credence said again, keeping his eyes on Grindelwald's chin.

The man shifted. He looked shocked, as if he couldn't believe what Credence was asking of him, and slowly he asked, “Do you even know what it takes to be a soldier, boy?”

This time, Credence glanced up, meeting Grindelwald's mismatched eyes for a tense moment, and replied quietly, “I don't, because I don't have what it takes, and yet here I am.”

Grindelwald scowled at him, his face twisting in embarrassed rage, and in a cold voice, he muttered, “You are just asking for a world of pain, boy.”

“Then hurt me, and leave Evan alone.” Credence requested, lowering his gaze again, “Put him in the factory, make him do packing, make him a soldier, just _don't_ lobotomize him. It isn't worth it.”

A long, pained sigh came from the older man. Grindelwald turned away from Credence, took a few thoughtful steps, then waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, “Fine. Fine. Leave the swine here.”

The soldier didn't even attempt to put Evan down gently. They merely let the boy drop onto the metal floor, the room echoing the heavy _thunk_ his body made. “When he wakes, send him to waste management. A few months in the sewers should straighten him out.”

The soldier saluted, then went back to the remaining fifteen students. They had all been branded, all been dressed, and now they were being led out of the room, back towards the factory. Credence watched them go, his brows furrowing, and he wondered fleetingly if they would ever see the light of day again. If _he_ would ever see the light of day again.

He came back to his surroundings when Grindelwald put his hands on his shoulders and said, “Credence. You're a doll.” He squeezed the boy's shoulders, and then his voice dropped darkly, “But that's all you are, boy. A doll. A toy. A pretty thing to look at and touch, to flaunt in front of others. You are not smart. We both know this. So don't pretend like you know anything. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Credence replied quietly, keeping his head down, focused on their shoes.

“Backtalk to me again in front of my men and I'll turn you into my own personal bitch. Do you hear me?” Grindelwald threatened, and Credence swallowed shakily before he nodded.

“Y-yes. Yes, sir.” He whispered, his voice barely even there, but it was enough for Grindelwald to hear. The man nodded once, then let go of Credence and cleared his throat.

“Let's move on,” He declared, walking in the opposite direction of the factory, pushing open double-doors to step into a new room. Credence had to rush to keep up.

It took two hours just for Grindelwald to show Credence the place, and Credence was horrified by how large this space was. He had never heard of a sweatshop for Assuru Global, had never even thought of it being a possibility. Such things—sweatshops—were barbaric, and thought to have been lost long ago in the past. And the place, spanning over 4.3 million square feet, was every horrible thing Credence could think of smashed together in one spot.

While the guards roomed in lavish bunks fitted with separate plumbing and a grand canteen, and the more important people such as Grindelwald resided in their very own apartments within the place, the Failures, or Swine as Grindelwald had taken to calling them, switched out in shifts of sixteen hours. They rotated throughout the factory, working their entire shift with only a twenty-minute pause for a meager meal, then would be allowed to rest for four hours afterward. The final hour was their recreational time, but it seemed like most simply used it for more sleep. They slept like they worked, squeezed together in a large hall, lined with thin mattresses and even thinner sheets. They piled together for warmth, the smell of sweat and despair lingering in the air. They had sixteen toilets. Each one of them was a hole dug into the ground, connected to a runoff where their waste would spill into the sewers.

And then Grindelwald brought him to the recreation area. Filling this room were men and women of various sizes, shapes, and ages, all nude, sitting in lavish couches and tempting Grindelwald and Credence with fluttering lashes and sultry gazes. Credence was baffled, not at all interested to investigate this room further until he realized that, running around this room in a similar state of undress, were _children_.

Even though he knew Grindelwald would be mad at him for it, Credence had to turn and leave this room as quickly as possible. He thought he was going to be sick. Did the men and women here really...?

Grindelwald followed him soon after, _amusement_ on his damned face, and Credence never felt so much hatred for one man in his entire life. This place, these rooms, they were all chambers of torture and death. The soldiers were the devils and the demons, rattling the chains and spearing their horns into the Swine, the helpless victims who were only there because they hadn't been _smart enough_.

It would have been better if they had just died like they were supposed to.

“It's a bit much to take in, I understand,” Grindelwald tried to sound comforting, but Credence only gagged a second time, “You'll get used to this place in no time, boy. And I'm certain that soon enough, you'll be enjoying the recreational room from time to time.”

 _Never_ , Credence wanted to say, to shout, but he merely pressed his lips into a line and squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing back the words and the bile until his throat burned. He would survive this. He had to survive this. He just had to stay on Grindelwald's good side...

If the man even had one.

“I—I wouldn't dare think of being with anyone but you, sir,” Credence whispered, knowing once upon a time that such words would be stirring Percival's blood and loins, would be the start of a fun afternoon, maybe something he'd whisper to the man early in the morning had they actually lived together. And now, he was using it to get Grindelwald's mind off of the horrors and onto him. Focus more on him, and he believed this place could be just a little bit better off.

He felt a hand slide into place on the back of his neck, and Credence went stiff. A hot breath soon followed, following the edge of his ear, and Grindelwald whispered heatedly, “If you ever betray me, you will merely be another addition to that salacious room.”

Letting go of his neck, Grindelwald moved on, going from sadistic monster to casual so fast it made Credence's head spin. As he walked, Credence forced himself to pull it together, then quickly followed after him.

On the surface, long after the sun had risen and the day had begun, Percival snorted himself awake. He jolted forward from where he sat in his armchair, feeling dried spit trailing from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. His head pounded and his vision swam. His stomach felt like it was doing flips inside of him, and he thought for a moment that he might actually vomit.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, groaning. He drank too much last night. He knew why; there was no pretending that he didn't. He drank himself unconscious because of the Thinning. Graduation was _today_ , and he felt like he wasn't ever going to be ready for it. He wasn't exactly required to be there, but Seraphina would definitely wonder where he had been.

His phone chimed somewhere to his left. He checked the table, the floor, and then realized it had fallen between the chair cushion, so he dug it out with a grunt. Checking his notifications, he groaned when he saw he had eighteen missed calls, thirty-six text messages, and five voicemails. He immediately cringed when he saw they were all from Theseus. He must have been talking to him last night.

He opened up the text messages first, scrolling all the way to the top to see where the conversation began, and immediately huffed in embarrassment.

> Wyd :You
> 
> Scamander: Trying to get Newt to eat.
> 
> Scamander: He isn't taking today well.
> 
> Scamander: I think he's real shaken up
> 
> from almost being failed.
> 
> Let me talk t hjim :You
> 
> Scamander: U sure?
> 
> Scamander: I was under the impression
> 
> the two of you weren't the
> 
> best of friends
> 
> There was a ten minute gap, wherein Percival must have given him a call. He couldn't for the life of him remember what he said, but from the following messages, it couldn't have been good.
> 
> Scamander: wtf did u say to my brother
> 
> Scamander: He's crying again!!!
> 
> Scamander: He's not even talking to me wtf!!!!
> 
> Scamander: Percival u tell me what u just said!
> 
> Gimmw newts number :You
> 
> Scamander: Fuck no I wont!!! Wtf!!!!!!!
> 
> Scamander: Stop calling!!!
> 
> Let me talk to newt :You
> 
> Scamander: u RIGHT PIG WHAT DID
> 
> U DO
> 
> Scamander: stop
> 
> Scamander: calling
> 
> Scamander: ur not talking to him agin!!

The rest of the messages were just variants of Theseus yelling at him. He decided the next best idea would be to check his voicemail. The first one made him jolt with how loud Theseus was yelling. It was hardly even intelligible. Percival deleted it and moved on.

“I swear to God, Percival, if you ever lay your filthy fuckin' hands on my brother again I'll kill you!” Theseus shouted, and Percival figured he must have told Theseus about their not-so-professional relationship. Graves sighed and deleted that message as well, moving on.

This time, Theseus was whispering angrily, as if he didn't want Newt to hear, “You ever show your face around me again and I will tear your eyes out, bloody pervert. Don't ever speak to me again!”

Deleted. Moved on.

“And another thing!” Theseus spat, as if he had just hung up and redialed him, “Consider any debt I owe you for saving Newt from the Thinning null and void. Burn in Hell.”

Percival tilted his head back, putting his phone down for a minute. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to listen to the last message. He didn't want to know what else Theseus had to say about his and Newt's relationship. As far as he knew, he not only lost both of his lovers, but he lost one of his best friends as well. It was a terrible day. He didn't want to go to Graduation at all.

Scowling at his phone, Percival decided to move on to the last message. Whatever it was, he deserved it.

He took a deep breath, kept his eyes closed, and pressed the phone back to his ear as he started the message.

“Mr. Graves?” A small voice whispered, and Percival let out his breath in relief, his eyes popping open. He could already imagine sweet Newt sneaking into Theseus' bedroom late at night and stealing his phone away, just so he could call him. “I'm sorry about Theseus... He doesn't understand... And... And I'm sorry about C-Credence...” Newt sucked in a shaking breath, his voice cracking as he said, “I-It's all my f-fault... And I'm so sorry. Please... please, please forgive me.”

Another shaking breath, and Newt all but sobbed out, “I d-don't want to be alone r-right now... I w-wish I was with you instead... I wish Credence didn't...” Another sob, and Percival felt his heart breaking.

Finally, the message ended with Newt mumbling, “Please just... call me. Text me. I don't think I want to go to Graduation. I'll be... I'll be at home. B-bye.”

Graves bit his lip, peered back down at the number on his phone. It was Theseus'. And all the messages he had were from Theseus. Maybe Newt changed his mind.

Furrowing his brow and deciding to risk it, he dialed Theseus' number and held it to his ear as it rang. It went by once, twice, and nearly a third before it was picked up.

“H-hello?” Newt's nervous, melancholic voice asked through the speaker, and Percival breathed in relief.

“Newt,” He muttered, hearing the boy mirror his sigh on the other end, “Are you alone?”

“Yeah. Theseus left early to set up.” Newt answered, “He still doesn't know I have his phone.”

“Good. That's good...” Percival paused, trying to think of what he should do, what the right thing would be. He knew Newt needed comfort first, so he decided to tell him, “What happened to Credence isn't your fault.”

Newt didn't reply to that, but his shaky breathing told Percival he was still on the other end of the phone. Percival closed his eyes, cursing himself in his head. All the things he could say, and he messes it up.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Newt said, “I don't want to be alone this summer.”

“I thought you lived with Theseus?” Percival asked, and Newt sighed.

“But I don't want to be alone with _him_. He doesn't understand. Doesn't know what it feels like.” Newt explained slowly, and Percival figured he understood. Getting through this grief was hell alone. It should at least be bearable with someone else with him.

Running his hand over his face, Percival agreed in a low voice, “I don't think I want to be alone either.”

Newt sucked in a shaky breath, obviously building up his confidence to ask, but before he could even get the words out, Percival said to him, “Put your things together. Give me a few minutes to... clean myself up. I'll be there shortly.”

Newt huffed in relief, happy that he didn't have to actually ask, and he whispered, “Okay. I'll be waiting.”

They hung up shortly afterward. Percival got himself up from the chair and went to take a shower, hoping to wash away last night's shame. He picked up his mess afterward, giving Newt ample time to get everything he needed, and then got in his car and headed for Theseus' apartment complex. The ride was long, taking about forty-five minutes for Percival to arrive at the place, but he didn't really mind the drive. Staying focused on the road with a plan to see Newt in mind kept the darker thoughts at bay.

As he climbed the stairs to the third floor, he wondered what Theseus might think to come home and find his little brother missing. He'd probably come straight to Percival's house and demand Newt return. Percival decided that he wouldn't try to dissuade or avoid him. This was his brother, after all. Even if he was upset with them, he would have to respect Newt's choices. And right now, Newt's choice was Percival.

He rapped on the door smartly, waited only a minute, and then the door was swinging open. There Newt stood, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, his nose red and raw, and a simple backpack on his back. He stepped out of the house and closed the door behind him, peeking up at Percival nervously before saying, “Thank you... for letting me stay with you.”

Percival peeked at his bag, concerned with how little he was bringing, but he figured he could easily buy anything he forgot.

“It's my pleasure,” Percival told him, putting a hand on the back of his neck and getting Newt to look at him, “You sure you got everything you need?”

“Yes.” Newt replied, relaxing under Percival's hand and letting his eyes close for a moment, obviously tired, “I left Theseus a note.”

Percival chuckled a little, squeezing the back of his neck just for a moment, then pulled away, “I doubt that'll do much to sway him, but at least he won't worry.”

Newt sighed, grimacing more than smiling, and he followed Percival down the stairway and towards his car.

As soon as they got in, Newt asked nervously, “You really don't mind?”

“Mind what?” Percival asked, turning the car on and getting on the road, intent on getting home as fast as possible. Even though the hot shower he took did a lot for his head and nausea, the light was still just a bit too bright.

“Letting me stay with you for the summer,” Newt explained, and this time, Percival gave him a bewildered look.

“What?”

Newt flushed, looking panicked, and he stuttered, “Y-you said I could stay the summer, didn't you?”

Percival's brow furrowed, thinking back to their conversation over the phone, and admitted weakly, “Sorry, I... I thought you were...” He shook his head, cleared his throat, then said, “Right. Just the summer.”

Newt blinked, staring at Percival openly, and in a small voice, he asked, “Are you... okay with that? Keeping me for the summer?”

“Of course, Newt.” Percival said quickly, glancing his way, “What do you plan to do afterward?”

Newt sighed loudly, admitting, “I don't know anymore... I've always wanted to do something with animals. Be a veterinarian, maybe. But Theseus always said it wasn't a well-paying job. Said I would do better in a STEM field.”

Percival snorted at that, muttering, “Of course he would. He was an engineer of some sort back in England, wasn't he? He probably wants to see his precious little brother follow in his footsteps.”

Newt smiled grimly, as amused as he could be the day after their partner's death, and he asked, “Well, that's what he wants. What would you want me to do after?”

Percival pursed his lips, thinking about it for a long moment, then admitted, “I don't think I very much care... so long as you're still with me after.”

Newt fell silent. Percival deigned not to look at him. They drove along in silence for a few long minutes. Percival could hear Newt breathing beside him. His nose was stuffy, Percival noted.

When they got onto the highway, Newt shifted in his seat, then said wistfully, “Maybe I _will_ become a veterinarian... I think the university nearby has a good program.” He shuffled his feet, getting nervous, and added, “And maybe... I won't have to worry about rooming there.”

Percival glanced his way, surprised, but he couldn't help the warmth that bloomed in his cold, broken heart. Reaching across the console of the car, Percival put his hand over Newt's knee and squeezed. He felt Newt's warm hand layer overtop his.

“Whatever you like, so long as you're still with me.” Percival hummed, stroking his thumb against Newt's knee. He knew it would be hard. Theseus might not support them from the beginning, but Percival was certain he would come around. And until then, Percival would do all he can to support his boy.

“What will you do after?” Newt asked a few minutes later, peeking up at Percival. The man merely shrugged.

“What I've been doing so far.” Percival said with a sigh, “Teaching chemistry and hoping no more of my students perish.”

Newt frowned at that, squeezing Percival's hand, then asked, “Will you be able to?”

“Yes,” Percival answered immediately, although the crease between his brows didn't support that claim. “His death is not the first on my hands.”

Thinking about it, Newt asked hesitantly, “Why shouldn't he be the last, then?”

Percival sighed, looking exhausted at the thought. Newt bit his lip and ducked his head, muttering a quiet, “Sorry. I won't push it.” And he felt Percival squeeze his knee once more.

The rest of the ride was silent, save for the passing cars on either side of them. As Percival pulled into his driveway, Newt stared up at his modern house in surprise. “This is where you live?” He asked as he stepped out of the car, pulling his backpack over his shoulder, “It's huge!”

“Hardly,” Percival chuffed, closing and locking his car before approaching the front door. Newt followed after him, still in awe. “I have two guest rooms that you can select to make your own.” He pressed his thumb into the center of the doorknob, letting the DNA scanner validate him. When the door popped open, Percival muttered, “We'll have to get it to recognize you as well.”

“We can do it later,” Newt hummed, stepping into the house after him, looking around curiously.

Percival closed the door behind them, then said, “Go choose your bedroom and make yourself comfortable. I'll make something to eat.”

Newt obeyed without another word, vanishing into the back of the house. Percival kicked off his shoes and hung his coat in the closet, then went to the kitchen, intent on putting together at least sandwiches. Even a little bit of food would do well for his stomach. He took out some vegetables, some cold meat, and some bread. He put together two beautiful looking ham, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches, plated them, and peered towards the hallway, wondering what was keeping Newt. He waited just a few more moments, then decided it would just be better to take the food to him instead.

Picking up the two plates, Percival headed down the hall. He peered into every room on his way, making sure he didn't miss the boy, and didn't find Newt until he entered his own bedroom at the very end of the hall. Newt had dropped his bag by the door and was sitting on the bed, head ducked and shoulders shaking. Percival's brow furrowed, and he carefully stepped further inside, making sure the boy knew he was there.

“Newt,” He said gently, sitting down beside the auburn-haired man, setting the plate in his lap, “Tell me what you're thinking.”

The boy sniffled, lifting his head enough to show Percival his teary eyes, fat drops running down his cheeks. “I just keep thinking... if Theseus never told you about me... if you and Credence didn't like me so much... he would still be alive.”

“You know that's not true,” Percival remarked, looking concerned, “You had nothing to do with what happened yesterday.”

“But I do! I'm the only reason why it happened, aren't I? I _failed_. And in order to save _my_ life, Credence had to--!” He clenched his jaw, more tears falling, and ducked his head once more. Percival took in a slow breath, held it, then scooted closer to him. Picking the plate up once more, he set both of their meals on the floor by their feet. With that safely out of the way, Percival crawled further onto the bed, wrapped an arm around Newt's waist, and pulled on him until they were both lying on their sides, Newt's back pressed firmly to Percival's chest. Newt let out a painful sob, bringing his knees up so he was curled in a bit tighter. Percival held him tightly, being his support as his emotions overcame him, and he carefully whispered gentle reassurances against the top of his head.

As Newt slowly calmed down from his sorrow, Percival decided to tell his boy the truth.

“Newt...” He whispered, closing his eyes, “You didn't fail at all. And Credence... he _did_ fail.”

Newt sniffled, wiping his eyes slowly, then asked in a rough voice, “What do you mean?”

“Credence hadn't passed the Thinning since elementary school.” Percival admitted, brows furrowing, “Because his mother is Senator Mary Lou, and she's been vouching for him year after year.”

Newt was silent. Percival pressed his lips into a line, then continued, “And when we met... I just had to save him. When his mother gave up on him, I vouched for him. That's how he was going to get through school.”

Sighing, he ended with a bleak, “But you passed, and still you were chosen for the Thinning. I never heard of that happening before. Our vouches never impacted who took their place. And as soon as you were on the chopping block, I just... had to make it right.”

Newt shuddered in Percival's arms, silently letting the news sink in, and when he finally gathered the strength to speak, it was but a whisper.

“You chose... me...?” He asked, not even daring to look over his shoulder at the man holding him so carefully, so tightly, “Over Credence?”

Graves closed his eyes. They both knew the answer was yes. Newt being there, on Percival's bed, in Percival's arms, being comforted by Percival himself, was because Percival had indeed decided that Newt's life was worth more than Credence's. But Percival was selfish and in pain, so instead he said, “I chose to do what's right over what I wanted.”

Newt blinked, the tears still flowing, although the sobs had dulled to a rare trembling gasp. “What you wanted was Credence instead of me?” He asked, curling up even tighter, trying not to let it show how much it hurt just to ask.

“What I wanted was both of you here,” Percival corrected immediately, not even having to consider it, “In my arms. In my bed. Safe and happy and with _me.”_ He shook his head, then buried his nose in the back of Newt's head, breathing in his scent, committing it to memory, “But I couldn't have that. It would either be you or him. What is morally right or wrong. And no matter what... I believe I am a good man.”

Newt shifted this time, turning in Percival's arms so he could look at him. Percival allowed their eyes to meet, and though his heart ached to gaze into sorrowful blues instead of deep, melancholic black, he didn't let himself flinch.

“It still hurts... doesn't it?” Newt asked softly. Percival didn't respond with his voice. He only nodded once, briefly, and Newt let out a breath held tight in his chest. “It hurts me, too... So badly. I can't imagine...” He blinked, blue eyes went watery once again, and he sighed, “I'm... so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Percival insisted, closing his eyes once more and pulling Newt close, tucking his head just underneath his chin, “And you shouldn't feel guilty for things you have not done.”

Newt breathed warm against his collarbone, sliding his hands first onto Percival's waist, then around to the small of his back. Percival kept his eyes shut, but he enjoyed the gentle touch, the warm glide of Newt's hands, and the reassurance they provided.

“Thank you,” He finally whispered, and Percival felt his heartache, “I... Don't know if you want to hear it, but... Thank you. For saving me. And...” Newt took a long breath, held it for a few even longer seconds, and then carefully let it out as he said, “I forgive you... for Credence. Because I know he would understand.”

Percival had not dared let a single tear drop in front of Newt up until then. And even when his emotions were struck and his heart bled, the tears came silently, belied not even by his breath. And still, even with his eyes closed and his face hidden, Newt must have felt it somehow, because he was tightening his hold and riding out the sorrow and grief with him.

After a long while, laying in bed and wasting the day away, Percival insisted, “You should eat.” Newt didn't want to move, and he made that obvious when he burrowed deeper into Percival's chest, but eventually, they unwound from one another, picked up their untouched plates, and fed themselves. The food tasted like dust and ash and air, their mouths chewing only by force of habit while their minds ran a hundred miles a minute. Percival peered at Newt, and Newt met his gaze fleetingly.

And in that moment, Graves decided that he would never let anything happen to this man.


	2. The Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mentions of rape, nothing explicit

The next morning, Theseus arrived.

Percival and Newt startled at the rough pounding echoing from the front door. They had been in the middle of breakfast, Percival about to take a sip of coffee, and Newt about to finish the last bite of his scrambled eggs. When a voice shouted through the reinforced door, the two men looked at each other, worried.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Newt asked, but Percival was already shaking his head and getting up from the table.

“I'll see what I can do. You don't have to see him if you don't want to.” Percival decided, and Newt watched him leave for the front door. He didn't get up from his seat, he merely stayed hidden in the kitchen and waited.

Percival took a breath behind the front door, letting himself prepare, and then slowly, slightly opened it. He peered out, immediately spying a red-faced and angry Theseus just on the other side. He didn't even have to ask what Theseus wanted, for the man was yelling in mere moments.

“Where's Newt, you bloody pig?!” He cried, trying to shove the door open wider, but Percival kept his grip steady, keeping Theseus from even looking inside. “What did you do with him?!”

“Calm down, Theseus. I didn't do anything to your brother.” Percival declared immediately, and Theseus all but slammed his fist into the door.

“Then where is he?” He growled, trying to shove again, but Percival remained steady.

“He's inside. He's eating right now. And you're not coming in until you've calmed down.” Percival declared, watching with little humor as Theseus struggled with his anger, obviously trying to reel himself back.

“I want to see him,” Theseus demanded, in a much calmer voice, although he still sounded tense and irritated.

Percival fell quiet at that, considering his request. After a long moment, he turned his head and called out over his shoulder, “Newton. Your brother would like to see you.”

Newt sat stiffly in his chair, feeling frozen to the spot. He really didn't want to go, he really didn't want to be yelled at by his brother at the moment, but he didn't want to hurt Theseus by outright saying he didn't want to see him. He tried to steel himself, tried to be strong, and carefully got to his feet.

As he drew closer to the front door, to where Percival stood, blocking Theseus from view, Percival peered at him and lifted a brow, a silent question, if he really wanted to do this.

Newt swallowed thickly, nodded, and approached just as Percival stepped out of the way.

“Newt!” Theseus gasped, shoving the door with enough force to finally make Percival stumble back. Theseus elbowed his way into the house, grabbed Newt by the shoulders, and pulled him into a tight hug.

Then, seconds later, he was pushing Newt back, holding him at arm's length, and shouting, “Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, what in the world were you thinking?! Running away without a word, leaving me a measly note?!”

“Th-Theseus...” Newt tried to say, but his voice wavered and his heart pounded in his chest. He was still too raw for this, still in too much pain. Percival stepped in, then, wrapping an arm around Newt's shoulders and pulling the boy to his chest.

“That's enough, Theseus,” Percival spoke up, using his own body as a buffer between the brothers, “Calm down or get out.”

“That's my brother! You can't--!” Theseus began to shout, only to immediately fall silent when Newt sobbed aloud. Percival tightened his hold on the boy, but Theseus was stepping inside again, cupping Newt's face in his hands and tilting his head up, “No, no, no, shh, shh, it's okay!”

“I don't want to do this, Theseus, _please_ ,” Newt begged, watery eyes wide and begging. Theseus continued to gently shush him, wiping his tears away desperately, and he began to nod his head.

“We're not doing this. We're not doing anything, I promise, Newt. I just wanted to see you, make sure you were okay, that's all!” Theseus reassured him, worming Newt out of Percival's grip to pull him into a tight hug.

“I'm _fine_ , Theseus, I'm _fine_.” Newt whimpered, twisting his hands in Theseus' shirt, his jacket, knowing that he was anything _but_. “Just trust me on this, Theseus... Please...”

“I-I do trust you, I promise,” Theseus reassured him, running his hands through Newt's hair, over the back of his neck, over his shoulders, “But you _can't_ just leave me a note and vanish, Newt! You _can't_!”

“You wouldn't have let me come!” Newt claimed, pulling away from Theseus far enough to cast him a mean look, one that Theseus faltered under.

“Why should I have?” Theseus huffed, becoming just the slightest bit defensive, “Percival's _old_! He's nearly three times your age!”

At that, Percival balked and retorted in an offended tone, “I'm thirty-five.”

Theseus scoffed at him but relented and corrected himself, _“Twice_ your age. Like that's even better! Why do you even want to be with this man? He took advantage of you, Newton!”

“He didn't!” Newt claimed, stepping away from Theseus now, “This is why I left so abruptly! You don't even listen to me!”

“Newt,” Percival spoke up, hoping to calm him down just a bit, but Newt didn't seem to hear him.

“Percival and Credence... they took care of me! They treated me so well, Theseus! They...” Newt clenched his jaw, felt more tears fall, but he didn't let the words come. Instead, he shook his head and turned away, slipping back into the house and letting Percival keep Theseus out. He was done talking. He needed to be alone.

“Newt!” Theseus shouted, but Percival was telling him that they had enough, that it was time for him to go. Newt hurried down the hall, rushing to Percival's bedroom and heading for the bed. He dropped onto it, grabbing a pillow and holding it close as he listened to Theseus and Percival argue for a few more minutes, ending with a loud bang—the front door being shut.

He heard Percival approach soon after. Felt the bed dip behind him. Saw the arms slip around his front and gently work the pillow away. Newt let it go, his comfort being replaced by a strong, warm, beating chest to his back and dry lips on his neck.

And then, gently whispered against his skin, Percival promised, “I love you.”

 

“I love you,” Credence breathed, staring at the man above him, trying to make it sound as genuine as it was when he would think about saying it to Percival. But Percival never laughed like Grindelwald did. He never mocked Credence for the things he felt or said, never made him regret his words only moments after whispering them.

“Don't lie to me,” Grindelwald chuckled, pushing Credence's hair out of his face, tugging at the sweaty strands, “Naughty, filthy boy. Think you could just tell anyone that?”

Credence shook his head, or he at least tried to with Grindelwald holding his head still in his fist.

“Only you,” He whispered, placing trembling hands on Grindelwald's chest, not daring to meet his eye even though it was directly above his head. “Promise.”

Grindelwald laughed at him again, ran his hands over Credence's body, his lips over his neck, claiming him more intimately than he had just minutes before. Credence shuddered, although he tried to pass it off as enjoyment, and he let his eyes slide closed. He would pretend it was Newt or Graves, pretend he was actually in love instead of scared and trying to get by. He didn't know what Grindelwald wanted past this, past his body, but he was determined to survive it.

It wouldn't be the first time Grindelwald took Credence in his bed. It wouldn't be the last time, either. But no matter how many times Grindelwald claimed him, no matter how rough or how gentle he was, Credence still had to pretend it was anyone but him. Still had to pretend it was one of his past lovers who held him, who he whispered to at night, who he kissed passionately and let take.

It was easier when they were alone together, when no one was there watching them, when Credence could close his eyes and let his imagination take control. But when Grindelwald brought Credence out to parade him in front of his subordinates, in front of the line workers and the soldiers, Credence couldn't even look at the man without feeling disgusted. With himself, mostly, but with Grindelwald as well. He tried not to think it, but he constantly wondered to himself, 'who could ever love this sort of man?'

Credence followed Grindelwald around the factory and obeyed his every command for a little over a week. In the morning, just as Credence was waking up and pulling the blankets around his nude form, he found Grindelwald standing at the other side of the room, dressed far more smartly than he had ever dressed for a day of work. Credence rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't imagining it, but when he looked again, he was certain Grindelwald was dressed to the nines.

“Ah, I was wondering when you would wake.” Grindelwald spoke up, not even looking at Credence, “I must be on my way now. I have much to do.”

“Oh,” Credence pushed himself up from the bed, but just as he was standing, Grindelwald was raising a hand for him to stop.

“Ah, ah, you're not coming with me, pet,” Grindelwald spoke, and Credence looked up at him in surprise. “I will be going outside for a while. Perhaps a month. There's work for me to do up there, you see. And I can't bring with me a boy who was meant to be killed, do you understand?”

Credence blinked, then peered down at his covered lap before asking, “What... am I going to do?”

“Well you'll be down here, of course,” Grindelwald said snidely, as if it were obvious. Credence shifted, becoming anxious.

“But what will I do down here?” Credence asked again, and Grindelwald paused to grimace at him. He always got annoyed when Credence asked the same question twice. Credence looked away from him, trying to remain visibly submissive.

“You will do as my soldiers say,” Grindelwald ordered, raising a brow, “You will report to Officer Samson just down the hall every morning and return back to this room when the day is done. Simple.”

“When... When will you be back?” Credence asked nervously, almost afraid to, but this time Grindelwald chuckled.

“Will you miss me, pet? I'll only be gone for a few weeks. I'm sure it won't be more than a month.” He said, putting a knee on the bed beside Credence and running his fingers along his jaw, “And when I come back, I'll be certain to make up for lost time.”

Credence shuddered at the implications, disgusted, but he forced himself to smile and press his cheek against his palm.

“Will you be good for Samson for me, pet?” Grindelwald hummed, leaning in to give his boy a kiss.

“Yes,” Credence whispered, closing his eyes and allowing Grindelwald to caress him.

“Good.” Grindelwald placed one last kiss upon his lips, then stood and headed for the door, “Don't forget to feed yourself.”

“Yes, sir.” Credence called out after him, waiting with bated breath as Grindelwald collected the last of what he needed, then left.

Credence stared at the door for a moment longer. Then, as if he might alert Grindelwald, he slipped out of bed and tip-toed to the closet. He pulled on his clothes, black on black on black, and by the time he was ready for his day, there was a sharp knock on the door.

Taking a deep breath, Credence headed for the door and let it slide open. On the other side stood a woman, much to Credence's surprise, but she looked just as heartless and stone-cold as Grindelwald. She wore the standard outfit, with added shoulder and wrist guards. She was as pale as can be from staying underground for so long, her eyes as black as the halls at night and her hair a bland, sun-starved yellow, pulled back into a tight bun, with not even a strand loose.

Without greeting, Officer Samson immediately spoke up, her voice booming and overwhelming in Credence's ears, “You are to follow me from the moment you get up to the moment you go to sleep. I expect you to be right behind me at all times, unless otherwise completing a task that I have assigned you. You will only return to this room when I allow it. Do you understand?”

“Er...” Credence gulped, terrified by this woman, terrified by her impassiveness, but he muttered out a meek, “Yes, ma'am.”

Samson huffed, her nostrils flaring for a moment, then she turned sharply and proceeded down the hall. “I am a very busy woman, swine. If you slow me down, I won't hesitate to throw you in the recreation room for the rest of the month.”

Credence felt his blood go cold, and almost desperately, he muttered, “But... Grindelwald--”

“Grindelwald is no longer here, swine.” Samson stated, stopping her stride to turn and leer over Credence, “You might have been given a bed and a room, but you are nothing but a _pig_ to me.”

Credence could only gape at this woman, terrified straight down to the bone. He thought he had been frozen solid, but the moment Samson turned and resumed walking, Credence rushed to keep up with her. His throat felt dry and his clothes suddenly felt too hot and tight, but he didn't dare lose his stride with her. He barely wanted to utter a word, afraid that the smallest mistake could convince her to throw him in the recreation room immediately, but he still found himself hesitantly asking, “Wh-what are we going to do?”

“We are going to do actual work,” Samson explained roughly, her brow furrowed, “Mister Grindelwald may run this place and walk around like he's the cock of the walk, but he is no longer here, and you no longer have that luxury. You will assist me with completing my job daily. You will shadow me and you will learn. And you _better_ learn fast.”

Credence was having a hard time keeping up with her quick stride. He didn't think how hard it would be to keep up with the rest of her. Anxiously, Credence pointed out, “B-but I... I failed the Thinning...”

“Do you think this job has anything to do with the Thinning?” Samson huffed, glaring over her shoulder at him, “We have _all_ failed the Thinning.”

“Wh-what?” Credence paused, and after a moment, so did Samson. Staring at Credence with cold eyes, she clasped her hands behind her back, standing strong.

Slowly, she took a step towards Credence, asking him, “If you haven't already realized, _swine_ , the Thinning is just a cover.” She kept advancing, and Credence began to retreat, his heart pounding in his chest, “It doesn't matter who fails or who passes.” She backed Credence against a wall, watching the sweat drip down his temple, “All that matters is if you are useful to Grindelwald or not.”

Credence's breath stuck in his throat. Samson was practically towering over him, even though she was a good half foot shorter, and when she saw that her point had gotten across, she leaned away and said, “Show him you're useful, swine. Show him you're here for a reason.”

“I-I...” Credence _squeaked_ when Samson suddenly threw her fist right in front of his face, squeezing her hands so tightly that the leather gloves she wore audibly strained.

“As soon as Grindelwald gets bored of you, he'll discard you. If you don't learn, you'll either work the line or work in recreation. So _learn_ to be strong.”

Final bit of advice given, Samson took a step back, checked her watch, then clicked her tongue, “We're behind schedule. Come. We need to make the rounds.”

She made a sharp turn and marched forward. Credence leaned against the wall for a moment longer, but when Samson called out, “Come along, pig,” he pushed himself up and hurried after her.

Right off the bat, Samson's schedule was much different than Grindelwald's. While he and Grindelwald spent most of their time ghosting around the factory and keeping a very distant eye on things, Samson seemed to have a more hands-on approach. Upon entering the factory, Samson was already barking out orders, not just to the other officers, but to the factory workers as well. Credence followed closely, watching in silence as Samson closely examined the lines, stopping every once in a while to bark at a worker to go faster, or to be more precise. One worker accidentally dropped what they were making, and Samson was on top of them in moments.

Picking up the part—a small, insignificant looking piece of the tablet they were making—Samson slammed her hand down on the worker's desk, startling the meek ten-year-old, and practically shoved the part right into her face, and all but shouted at her for her recklessness. Credence stood behind her, watching in shock as she made the girl cry.

“Do you think you can just throw these around? Don't you realize that this small, fragile piece of technology is more important than yourself?! You. Are. Replaceable!” Samson slammed the device down on the table, stood straight and scoffed.

“One more mistake and you will consider line-work to be a luxury.” She threatened, turning and walking away soon after. Credence gazed after her, pausing to look back at the sniveling girl, but rushed after Samson when she barked out, “Come, pig!”

Luckily, there were no more accidents as disturbing as that one as they walked the lines. Still, Samson still seemed to find a reason to confront various workers, all various ages, scolding them and treating them like they were nothing but defective robots. Credence watched it all silently, although the discomfort he could not hide. Multiple times he found himself gazing back at the victim of Samson's wrath, mouthing a meek 'I'm sorry,' even if it was just to make himself feel better.

When they finished their lines, Samson checked her watch once again and said, “The floor manager will take care of them throughout the day. We just have to stop by every once-in-a-while to make sure everything is going smoothly.” She turned to face Credence, lifting a brow at him, “Can't have only one person in a room of two to three hundred pigs all the time, especially if they get rowdy.”

“H-how do you keep them so quiet?” Credence asked softly, looking out to the workers, realizing belatedly that they truly were a mob against a single guard—the floor manager, who was armed and didn't mind showing it. “They outnumber the floor manager.”

“True,” Samson smirked, turning away and continuing her stride, trusting Credence to keep up, “Which is why we make demonstrations of particularly disquieted pigs. Nothing keeps the masses in fear better than a public execution.”

Credence's brow furrowed, and he glanced back to the retreating lines before muttering, “That can't be the only thing.”

“It's not. But that's not information for you to know.” Samson declared, stopping in front of a metal gate which she slid open. She pushed Credence in first, then stepped in herself, and with the yank of a lever, they were descending. Credence swayed when the industrial elevator shook and shuttered, but Samson remained still, her stance impenetrable. She only moved when she pushed the lever back up, stopping their descent, and then yanked the gate open.

“Go on,” Samson urged, pushing Credence out into the new hallway, one he hadn't been in before when he toured the place with Grindelwald.

“Wh-where are we?” Credence asked nervously, taking a few shuffling steps as Samson took the lead.

“We still have work to do. We have to check the kitchens.” She explained, and Credence felt his blood run cold. The kitchens, where Grindelwald claimed they killed and chopped up and cooked _people_. He could already see it, walls splattered with blood, floors drowning in it as it ran thickly into a single drain. Human corpses hanging upside-down from hooks on the ceiling like dead cattle, throats slit as they hung there. Credence really didn't want to see the kitchens, he didn't want to see the horrors that this place truly held. He was terrified to go any further, but when Samson turned her cold eyes on him and commanded he hurry up, he found himself walking forward anyway.

The double-doors at the end of the halls were pushed open, admitting them to a giant open floor, much like the factory above, but instead of lines of people, there were lines of countertops, stoves, ovens, everything a team of chefs would need to feed so many people. Against the back of the wall, so far Credence had to squint to properly see it, there were giant, thick, heavy metal doors with the curls of icy steam wafting under it. That must be where they held the corpses, Credence decided with a sick churn of his gut. They wouldn't just let them sit out in the humid air of the kitchen and rot.

“Officer Sam!” Another armed guard shouted, looking similar to the floor manager above, though she wasn't wearing a mask, nor was she wearing a full set of armor. Credence figured the heat would have been too overwhelming otherwise. The guard stopped in front of Samson and saluted firmly, only relaxing a moment later when Samson commanded her to.

“I received your message. Show me the rats.” Samson cut straight to the chase, not even introducing Credence even though this guard was glancing at him curiously.

It seemed the guard knew better than to delay Samson, however, for she immediately nodded and began to walk towards the back, explaining, “I don't know how they got in, honestly, but we keep finding their shit in the corners of the freezers. I even found one of them as hard as ice in there, Officer! If they get into the pantries, our stocks could be ruined!”

Credence went cold when he realized they were walking towards the freezers. His legs suddenly felt stiff and heavy, his heart pounding in his chest. He almost wanted to shout at them that he couldn't bear to see whatever horrors they held inside, but the guard was already tugging on the handle, opening the freezer with a gust of frozen air, and Credence peered inside.

Blinking owlishly, Credence looked back and forth between the carcasses of cows, pigs, and even fowls, along with stacks of frozen fruits and vegetables and cases of liquids. Unintentionally, Credence blurted out, “But where are the people?” Both Samson and the guard looked at him in surprise, only until the guard burst out laughing.

“Is he a new recruit?” She asked delightedly, gesturing to Credence, “Poor boy, I told you not to let that joke spread! He looks downright terrified!”

Samson grimaced at the guard's mirth, then said to Credence, “Against popular belief, we _don't_ actually cook and serve human remains here.”

Credence felt like he could breathe again, and he brought a hand up to his forehead and muttered, “Oh, thank God.”

“Rumors aside, these rats pose a very serious problem. We have little food as it is; we can't risk more of it being depleted. Not to mention the disease they can carry.”

Suddenly, a man was entering the freezer, dressed in a chef's uniform, white clothes splattered with color. He was portly, a little hairy, and seemed sort of skittish, but he smiled up at the three of them as soon as he entered.

“Jacob!” The guard called out, walking over to the big man and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, “Officer Sam, this is Jacob, he's our head pastry chef around here. Guy knows how to make a mean fruit tart.”

Samson looked perturbed and she crossed her arms defensively, but she gave Jacob a brief nod. “I assume you've noticed the rat problem, then?”

“Oh, yeah, probably found the stuff about a week ago. Thought it was nothing, honestly, but when I found more of it, well...” He paused, then scratched at the back of his neck nervously, “I thought it might be better to bring in the big guns.”

Samson sniffed, turning her head away, and remained stoic. “It was a good choice,” She declared, stepping further into the freezer despite how cold it was. Credence was already shivering.

“We'll have to set out rat poison and some traps. Benni, do you think you can contact imports and see what we can get?”

The female guard made another solute, then said, “I'll go immediately, ma'am!”

“Good.” Samson turned to Credence as Benni left the freezer, raising a brow at the boy, “We'll walk our lines here as well. Come.”

Credence fell into step with her, moving around Jacob who went further into the freezer to collect whatever it was he came in there for. They started at the back, going up and down the hot kitchen halls as Samson surveyed each worker. Her eyes were sharp and her senses even more so, and she seemed to hone in on those who were struggling to work as quickly as the rest.

Although Credence fully expected more shouting and insults to be hurled, Samson actually stood beside these chefs as if they were people. Still below her, with the way she directed them in a cold manner, but still beings capable of emotion. Credence's brow furrowed, and when they continued the lines, he asked, “Are these people like you? Like the officers?”

“Hm? Of course not. Why do you ask?” Samson queried, her stride casual. She even looked much more relaxed in the kitchen than she did in the factory.

“Well.... It's just...” Credence looked around, looked at the chefs who were smiling, talking with one another, _laughing_ , and he continued quietly, “They seem like they like their job a lot better than factory work.”

“Why wouldn't they? Our chefs are treated with utmost respect. Well, the most respect a pig can have.” Samson smirked, glancing back and forth between a few more of them cooking, “Do you really think we're stupid enough to allow these people dangerous weapons and access to spoiled or poisonous goods without making sure they absolutely loved us first?”

Credence thought about it, a frown on his face, and when loud laughter broke across the hall again, he found himself looking up, disbelief in his eyes.

“I just don't understand how they can be happy when there's a whole factory above them, working their people like slaves.” He admitted, and Samson let out a long sigh as if this wasn't the first time she had been told this.

“It's very simple, child,” Samson stated, pausing in the middle of an unused space so that they weren't blocking anyone's work, “How could pigs be scared for other pigs if they don't know they're there? As far as these chefs know, this is the only world that exists for them. There is no factory upstairs. There is no swine and slaves. There is only them, cooking, and us, protecting.”

Credence stared up at Samson in shock, then asked breathlessly, “They don't know where they are?”

“Well, they know that they failed the Thinning. They know that they're here because they have skills that are still sought after.” Samson smirked, resuming the walk, “As far as they know, we _saved_ them from death. As far as they know, they had been plucked from those who failed and allowed a second chance at life. So long as we allow them the slightest bit of luxury, we'll never have to worry about an uprising.”

Credence furrowed his brow, concerned about this system they had, but he followed Samson anyways, somehow eager to learn more. “Why didn't Grindelwald show me all of this when he was here?”

“Do you think I know what goes on in Grindelwald's brain?” Samson snorted, sneering at Credence, “He probably expects you to remain his little bed warmer for all I know. But I don't believe in any one of us being allowed to laze about. If we're all down here, then we have to pull our own weight. Grindelwald's pet included.”

They walked quietly afterward, Samson pausing here and there to calmly but sternly guide those who needed help, and even praising some when she paused for a taste. Credence felt like he was watching a whole other woman walking around these kitchens, and when they finally made it back to the lift, Credence gazed up at her.

“Why do you call them swine and pigs?” Credence asked, his brow furrowed. Samson shifted slightly where she stood, her hand on the lever as they lowered deeper into the ground. Credence could barely see her face in the darkness, the single lamp hanging in the corner only barely luminous.

“So we can distance ourselves from them.” She ended up answering, though her voice sounded much smaller than it had all day. Credence could relate, he realized. How could these men and women continue what they do, abuse children and teenagers and allow them to be raped or injured or killed if they didn't somehow put a screen between Them and Us. If the workers were just another animal to them, it made it that much easier to sleep at night.

“Does it work?” Credence asked next, his own voice quiet, almost lost in the hushing sound of metal gliding down cut stone and rock.

Samson closed her eyes. That much Credence could see. Just the flicker of her lashes outlined in the dim light, remaining still for a few long moments, and then opening again.

“No.” She admitted, pushing the lever up and stopping the elevator, “But what we cannot cope with can be forgotten.”

Credence lowered his gaze as Samson slid the gate open, and out they walked yet again to a whole other level.

“Sammy!” They were immediately greeted by another officer, this one not armed at all and wearing just the barest armor. He didn't even have a nightstick. “I was wondering when you'd come by. You're usually never late.”

“I have baggage today,” Samson mentioned, gesturing towards Credence who merely hunched his shoulders.

“Ah, that must be Grindelwald's thing, huh? No wonder,” The guy chuckled, then gestured with his chin and began to walk, “Benni told you about that rat problem already?”

“She has.”

“That's good. She was getting real worked up about it. Ah, here you go,” The officer pushed open the double doors for the both of them, allowing them to step inside first, and within, Credence's eyes went huge.

If he thought the kitchens were better than the factory, this was _twice_ as much. Like the first two rooms, the area was expansive, but now they were filled top to bottom with screens and technology. People sat behind desks, tapping away on their personal monitors. Others were chatting, bouncing off ideas and using words that Credence never could understand. At the very end of the room, directly across from the doorway, there sat a large, inexcusably huge desk, and the top of it was an equally large screen.

And sitting right in the middle was a golden-haired woman who absolutely beamed at them.

“Queenie,” Samson sighed in greeting.

“Hello Sammy,” Queenie replied, wiggling her fingers in a playful sort of wave, “What brings you 'round my halls?”

“I come here every day, Queenie.” Samson reminded her, brows lifted. Queenie giggled delightedly, a soft, musical sort of thing.

“Oh, isn't that right. I must have forgotten.” She grinned, then peered up at Credence and went on a completely new track. Standing up from her desk, she extended a hand and gasped out, “Well, hello there, sweetheart! You must be a new face 'round here, huh?”

“Y-yes,” Credence muttered, taking Queenie's hand in a limp grip and giving it a single shake.

“Look at you! You look so young, sweetie. What's your name?” She asked, slowly sitting back down as she straightened out her powder pink blouse.

“C-Credence, ma'am. Credence Barebone.”

“Ah, the young mista Barebone!” Queenie giggled, putting on a delicate golden headset, and saying into the small microphone at the end, “Credence Barebone.”

The elongated screen glowed, information zipping across it in a blur as if they were actual documents, until it finally pulled up a digital folder titled Credence Barebone. Putting on a rose pink glove with sensors embedded in the fingertips, Queenie tapped the folder, then pulled it up, watching as the digital file shot into the air like a hologram, flipping open and displaying a wide range of information.

“O positive blood type. Three fillings. Got every single shot. Oh! Adopted!” Queenie grinned up at Credence, “And what peculiar after-school activities.”

Credence felt his blood run cold and his eyes grow wide, but before he could say a word about it, Queenie waved the file away and said, “Ah, but don't you worry, sweetie. I ain't gunna tell a soul.”

“I-I don't understand...” Credence managed to stutter out, looking from Queenie to Samson, his brows furrowed.

“In order to keep this place running, we need to make sure that our existence is not discovered,” Samson explained in a straight-forward tone, “And we need to keep tabs on every potential child there is that we can recruit. Along with those who will ultimately fail.”

“You've been in my sights for quite a while,” Queenie mentioned with a wink, “You and that cute Scamander boy. He was supposed to be recruited this year, but I heard a whole mess of records was released. Sounds like a terror to deal with.”

“It's already been two weeks and Grindelwald has to go back up there to deal with the media,” Samson muttered, rolling her eyes, “The whole state is calling for blood. They want Grindelwald's head on a pike, because of _course_ they're blaming him.”

Queenie let out a long sigh, leaning back in her seat with a frown, and she said, “Well, what are the politicians gonna do? Tell the world it's actually their fault?” She tutted, “Mista Grindelwald already has his plate full.” Then, with a keen eye, Queenie peered back up at Samson and said, “But you don't come 'round here for a chat. What do you need, Sammy?”

“I need to know if imports can gather some poison and traps. There are rats in the kitchen.” Samson explained, arms crossed, and Queenie immediately grimaced, although even that emotion on her face was graceful.

“Oh, I do hope they don't get to the pastries,” Queenie murmured, her brow quirked, “I can't go a day without a pączki.”

“They won't get into any of our food if we get those traps. Understand?” Sammy clarified, frowning, but Queenie was already humming and pulling up file after file.

“Don't you worry, sweetie Sammy, I'll requisition some traps and a teensy bit of rat poison, just for you.” She winked at Samson, then made a gesture with her ungloved hand, “Run along now, sweetie. I know you're behind schedule.”

“Thank you, Queenie.” Samson turned and began to leave, Credence hesitantly trailing behind. They didn't make rounds here. Instead, they headed straight back out getting themselves back in the lift, which Samson began to bring up. Credence stayed quiet for the duration of their journey, but the higher they went, the more curious Credence became.

“They know everything?” He found himself asking. Samson huffed.

“Yes. And before you ask, they don't revolt because we keep them heavily sedated. Well, more like we keep them on a lot of uppers. Can't do anything when you're feeling happy all the time.” She explained, shrugging her shoulders impassionately.

“That seems... wrong.” Credence mumbled, looking down at his feet, “All of this seems wrong.”

“Credence,” Samson sighed, letting the lever go, even though they weren't at an entrance yet. Standing there, trapped in a small lift with Samson, Credence felt his heart rate rise. But Samson merely turned and looked at him, _really_ looked, and she told him, “This place, its existence, is wrong. What our country has been doing to the so-called culled five percent is horrible, but it cannot be stopped. We are running on our factories so desperately that without them, our country might as well fall.”

She stepped closer, looking compassionate for once, and she said in a gentle tone, “I know you didn't choose this. None of us did. But you're here now, and you need to make the best of it.”

“By making everyone else feel worse?” Credence argued.

“By pretending it doesn't hurt.” Samson clarified, her voice genuine, “By pretending that you really are dead and are trapped in some sort of sick version of Hell. By pretending like none of this is real.”

Stepping away from Credence and moving back to the lever, Samson uttered, “If you can't do that... you'll just drive yourself mad.”

They resumed their ascent.

They didn't walk anymore lines that day. Instead, Samson brought Credence to a space that looked like the cafeteria at school. It had picnic-style tables, booths set in the back, and multiple machines that dispensed anything from coffee to whiskey. This was where the officers and guards congregated during their off-time, it seemed. Credence walked with Samson towards the back, finding himself a seat in the same booth as her, and watched stiffly as others began to flock.

“Well, well, well,” A thin but tall man called out in a reedy voice, his eyebrows raised high and his eyes focused on Credence, “I thought Botinelli was joking when she said you had a shadow, but look at this! Sammy has a little puppy following her around!”

He slid into the booth, pressing right up against Credence's side, and he winked playfully at him, “Hey.” He flirted.

“Er...” Credence shrunk away from him, inevitably scooting closer to Samson while he did so, but the woman didn't seem all that concerned with how near he got.

“Leave him alone, Rodgers, I saw him first!” A muscular but pretty woman challenged, getting in the booth as well and squeezing in as close as she could. She reached around Rodgers and put a hand on Credence's knee, giving it a little squeeze, “Besides, it looks like _you_ need a _woman's_ touch.”

Credence jerked away from her, gasping, but this only elicited sick laughter from the two guards. He wanted to get out of the booth, but Samson was blocking his way, sitting there and watching them and doing nothing about it.

And then a third one appeared, a meek young man who looked just as green as Credence did, and he carried with him a tray covered in drinks. “Here's your coffee,” He said as he placed the cup in front of Samson, “And some gin and tonic,” He placed that in front of Rodgers, “And absinthe for the lady,” which he placed in front of Botinelli.

When he looked back to Credence, though, the boy wore a frown, and he uttered, “I-I didn't know you were training a new recruit, Sam.”

“I'm pet-sitting. At best.” Samson retorted, picking up her coffee and taking a few thick gulps down.

“I'm sorry, I... didn't get you anything,” The guy apologized, but Credence automatically shook his head, muttering that it was quite alright, even though he found himself rather thirsty.

The boy shuffled his feet, looking nervous, and then he set the tray down and gently slid into place just beside Botinelli, offering Credence a tiny smile. “I'm Newmaker. What's your name?”

“C-Credence, sir.” He replied, only for Botinelli and Rodgers to burst into laughter.

“He called him sir!” Rodgers howled.

“Look at poor Newmaker! Oh, his face is just red!” Botinelli teased, pinching Newmaker's cheeks until he smacked her hand away.

“I'm... sorry?” Credence tried, worried, but the others merely continued to laugh and joke and tease.

Samson, deciding that Credence had gone through enough trouble as it is, pulled Credence closer and explained, “Newmaker is fresh from the Thinning, just like you. Almost made him a factory pig, but he proved to have other talents. But for now, he's being trained by Rodgers.”

“And aren't I doing a good job? He knows everyone's drinks, now!” Rodgers claimed, slapping the table humorously. Newmaker tried to smile, but it came more like a grimace.

“I asked Sam to train me first,” Newmaker admitted to Credence, “But she said she was too busy to deal with a pup like me.”

“Excuses, excuses. She just doesn't think you're worth it,” Botinelli grinned, leaning back against the plush seat of the booth's bench, “Well, come on then! Why're you watching this one?” She gestured with a jerk of her chin towards Credence, a sort of snotty grin on her face.

“Grindelwald had business to do. He left me his pet to deal with for the month,” Samson said plainly and honestly, putting a hand to her head so she could rub her temples. As if Credence had been enough to spur on a headache.

“This is Grindelwald's?” Rodgers asked, pointing rudely at Credence, “Really?”

“I thought he had better taste,” Botinelli said behind her hand, although she did nothing to actually lower her voice. “That thing looks like a _twig_.”

“I-I think he's sort of nice,” Newmaker tried to join in, but both Botinelli and Rodgers cast him an ungrateful look. Newmaker immediately ducked his head, uttering an apology.

On the other side of the table, Samson finished her coffee.

“It's time to get back, Credence.” She ordered, getting up from her seat in the booth. When Credence tried to follow, Rodgers immediately shot a hand out and grabbed him by the wrist.

“No, stay a little longer!” He said, voice cloy, “You can have fun with us! Samson's just about the work. Don't you want to relax?”

Credence tried to jerk out of his grip, but that only seemed to spur Rodgers on, and he grabbed Credence's arm with his other hand, yanking the boy closer, “Of course you do, doll, I can see it in your eyes.”

“N-no!” Credence tried to argue, but Rodgers hushed him as if he were soothing a child, and he pulled Credence even closer.

“Don't try to play hard to get with me, doll face. I _always_ win.” Rodgers grinned, and Credence thought for a horrible moment that he was about to be devoured by this man.

But then Samson was grabbing him by the back of his shirt, yanking him out of the booth and out of Rodger's grip with a single tug. She threw Credence onto the ground, the boy shouting as he landed, and spat out, “Get up. You're wasting my time.”

She stomped off moodily, and Credence had to scramble to his feet before he could chase after her. By the time they made it into the lift, Credence was gasping from exhaustion and panic, and Samson didn't even offer him a look of pity.

They climbed higher, Credence finally catching his breath, and he managed to mutter out, “Thank you...”

Samson snorted, her brow twitching, and she scolded him, “Next time, don't egg him on like that.”

Credence blinked at her, confused, and was about to ask 'like what,' but they arrived at their next destination before he could manage it. Samson stepped out first and Credence followed after, looking around in awe as he took in the newest space.

“This is imports,” Samson explained since no one rushed up to greet her, “They handle everything that comes in and anything that goes out. We also store the bulk of our non-perishable foods here.” She walked on, Credence tailing after her, and soon they were roaming between the tall rows of shelves, not a single one of them empty. Boxes, cans, bags, even pallets were spread throughout the room. People passed by them, but none of them offered Samson or Credence a hello.

“Do you drug these people too?” Credence asked a little cruelly, but, he thought, after all he had seen today, he could be a little cruel.

However, Samson replied with a simple, “No.” She let that hang in the air for a handful of seconds, then added, “These are the illegal immigrants that have been 'deported.' None of them speak English.”

Credence gaped at her, horrified by the implications, and he asked, “Have none of the other countries wondered about their own people?”

“Are you kidding? Every country is struggling to meet their five percent. If a handful of people leave their country, it's no longer their burden. So long as they stay out, no one asks questions.” Samson explained, rolling her eyes.

Before Credence could say another word, they approached a small office that jutted out from the corner. The door hung open, and inside sat a portly guard with a thick mustache and beard. He startled to attention as soon as Samson cleared her throat, and it almost looked like he had hurt himself in the flurry.

“Officer Samson!” He bellowed in a deceivingly joyous tone, although the way he was turning red and wringing his hands showed that he hadn't expected a visit today.

Samson narrowed her eyes at the man, and responded curtly, “Taking time to yourself again, I see. Since you seem to take care of all your work quickly enough to allow such a luxury, maybe I should think about transferring you to the factory. You would work much faster than the pigs I have there already.”

“N-no! I was---I just finished up some... some...” He looked around, eyes wide, forehead sweating, and then he gestured to his desk—small and cramped as it was—and declared, “Paperwork! Er... yes! I was just completing the paperwork.”

“So Benni has spoken to you already?” Samson asked, already knowing she hadn't with the way the man seemed to stiffen up.

“Yes. Mhm. And I'm... I'm on it.” He stated, offering Samson a smile.

“So when do you think they'll arrive?” Samson continued, even though she knew he didn't know, but it seemed to be amusing her to some extent.

“Ah, tomorrow evening, I believe! Yes, tomorrow. No later than five. Mhm!” He responded ecstatically.

“Wonderful,” Samson sighed, turning away from this man and exiting his office, all the while calling out over her shoulder, “Then I better see three thousand mouse traps and thirty gallons of rat poison tomorrow evening.”

Away she walked, and Credence followed after, but he couldn't help but look back as they left, seeing the man immediately regret what he had promised Samson, absolutely red in the face and looking as if he would faint.

“Why--” Credence began to ask, but Samson held up a hand to stop him from uttering another word.

“Nobody else wanted this job.” She explained, and Credence bobbed his head in understanding.

They went back into the lift, returned to the floor where the factory was, and proceeded towards the residential area, Credence's feet sore and Samson looking tired. When they were away from the others, Samson explained, “Now that you've seen the place properly, I expect you to do errands for me. I won't have you shadowing me all day. It took much too long with you holding me back.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Credence uttered, keeping his head low.

“And you better be quick about it, boy. I won't always be in the same room for long.” She added.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And one more thing,” She stopped just before the door to her apartment, turning to look at Credence one last time for the day, “I am not your mother. I am not your friend. If you think I'll come in and save you from some trouble you get mixed up in, think again.”

With that, Samson opened the door to her apartment and left Credence alone. But he didn't linger long. He turned and entered Grindelwald's apartment, watching as the door slid shut behind him, then he sighed and shuffled towards the bed.

He collapsed on the mattress with a huff, not even bothering to take his clothes off first. He had spent too many nights nude in this bed. He didn't want to spend another if he didn't have to.

So, staying fully dressed, even to the boots, Credence curled up on top of the blankets, tucking himself into the fetal position, and began to fall asleep.

 


	3. Struggles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw attempted rape. Doesn't get penetrative, but still very molest-y. A lot of victim shaming and self shaming too.
> 
> This chapter is a bit short. Sorry I want to make sure it's skip-able if someone doesn't want to read it due to the trigger warning. It may be confusing, but it shouldn't be too bad.

He played as Samson's personal lackey for the rest of the week. He walked with her as she did her lines, fetched things or relayed messages to the proper departments, and dealt with her friends when she took breaks. It wasn't the hardest work he had done, but it wasn't the easiest, either. He was lucky he had a decent memory, or else he probably would have gotten lost in this maze a long time ago.

Just like the rest of the guards and officers, Credence tried to pretend like the people they were working to exhaustion weren't the same as him, although he refused to actively ostracize them. Still, he felt like ignoring them and their plight was just as bad.

He didn't think their lives could get any worse until one morning, while he and Samson were pacing the factory, one of the younger workers began to vomit.

She hadn't been looking too well for the past few days, but it seems like whatever was ailing her had finally reached a peak. Her retching echoed throughout the spacious room, and Samson was on her faster than Credence could blink. Everyone around them remained silent and kept to their work.

“I-I'm s-sorry!” The girl blubbered, the entire front of her shirt covered in sick, orange and green and reeking. Samson regarded her for only a moment, then pulled out her pistol and buried a bullet right between the kid's eyes.

Credence shouted in horror as the sound of the gunshot echoed, and in a panic, he shouted, “Why did you do that?!”

“It was sick,” Samson stated plainly, as if that was all the reason she needed.

“She would have gotten better!” Credence claimed, looking down at the limp body, watching the blood spill from the hole in her head, “You didn't have to kill her!”

“Would you prefer I allow whatever illness she contracted to spread to the rest of these swine?” Samson questioned, turning her glare on Credence, “We'd have an epidemic on our hands, boy. I will not risk such a thing.”

“So you'd kill her instead?” Credence cried, feeling the emotion he had been so desperately holding down finally bursting in his chest, “This is—This is just ridiculous! All of this is mad!”

“That's enough,” Samson tried to order him, but now that Credence was letting it out, he couldn't very well stop.

“How could you continue to live when these _children_ are being tortured?” He questioned, not even realizing when the workers immediately around them paused and peered up at him, “Are you not a godly woman? Don't you realize you are killing your own people?!”

“That's. Enough!” Samson shouted, striking Credence across the cheek and sending him to the ground. Immediately, those that had stopped their work immediately turned their heads away, hands fumbling as they tried to pretend like they hadn't been listening. With Credence on the ground, Samson stood over him, staring down at him with rage in her eyes and her jaw clenched.

“Do not think for even a second,” She began, her voice low and threatening, “That just because you are Grindelwald's favorite, that you're immune to punishment.” She crouched down, her knee slamming down right beside Credence's shoulder, and she grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

“Do not think that I will not put you in your place because of him.” She spat, eyes going wide, “I do not fear Grindelwald, _pig_. But you,” She tugged Credence up, making him scramble against her grip, the shirt tugging painfully against the back of his neck, “Should fear,” She put a hand on his jaw, holding onto him tightly, refusing him even the most minute movements, “ _Me_.”

Before Credence knew it, Samson was slamming his head back against the concrete floor. His vision immediately went black, his body going limp, and just as he was slipping into the darkness, he heard Samson's voice, vicious and unforgiving, “You're lucky I don't just kill you.”

The feel of a damp cloth running over his brow was what brought him back. The water was cool, soothing the stinging skin when it ran along the side of his face, cleaning off the tear-tracks that had appeared from the pain. Slowly, almost painfully, he opened his eyes.

Leaning over him was a woman, fully nude, with the most compassionate expression he had ever seen in this god-forsaken place. “There you are,” She whispered, a smile on her painted lips, and she continued to run the cloth over his forehead, “Don't worry, dear. We got you.”

Credence blinked up at her, the gentle touch of the damp cloth in her hand making him face back into unconsciousness, but his attention was grabbed before he could slip away. A group of loud officers stepped into the room, loud and boisterous and so obviously drunk. The woman tending to Credence twisted around, her face twisting in distaste. The children scattered, running away from the officers without a word, vanishing towards the back of the room.

The room was soon filled with tittering laughter and flirtatious cooing. The officers began to break away from each other one by one, being pulled into the arms of men and women alike, the slick sounds of mouths and tongue stroking skin, soon followed by the jangling of their belts. Credence's head swam, still reeling from the impact of his skull on the concrete floor, but he was absolutely certain that the breathy moans and the slap of skin were real.

“Well, well, well,” A familiar voice ebbed into Credence's mind, and he struggled to focus his waning gaze upon the figure standing over him. “If it isn't Grindelwald's bitch. What are you doing in here, little boy?” She purred, arms crossed over her muscular chest, dark eyes glinting down at Credence. The man felt himself shudder, although it felt distant, not real. This was the same woman that Samson ate lunch with every day, the very same woman who, like Rodgers, couldn't keep her hands off of Credence, doing her best to embarrass him with her inappropriate flirting.

Credence tried to reply to her, but his throat wasn't working right, and all he managed was a weak gurgle. His response only spurred the woman—Clara, Credence thinks her name was—laugh, and she took a few steps closer to him.

“If you're here now then that must mean you're being punished,” Clara reasoned, uncrossing her arms and looking at Credence's vulnerable body up and down. Credence's eyes rolled, unable to focus much longer, and his vision began to tunnel. “I guess that also means that you're here to be used...”

Credence couldn't remember how or when, but suddenly Clara was upon him. She grabbed Credence's wrists and started to tug open his clothes. Credence groaned, unable to fight her off, even when she pressed her fingers into Credence's mouth, pressing down on his tongue, saturating her fingers with his saliva. He choked on her hand, twisted his head this way and that, struggling to get her off of him.

“Come on, little _pet_ ,” Clara growled, yanking Credence's vest open, then jerking his undershirt up, bunching it tightly under his armpits. She sat on Credence's lap and started to painfully grind down on him, starting to pant. “Don't you want to have a little _fun_?”

Struggling harder, Credence tried to shove her off, but his arms just wouldn't do what he wanted them to, and his mind was just so fuzzy, and his vision kept blurring. His heart pounded hard, and for a terrifyingly long time, he wondered if this was actually going to happen, if he was going to be taken against his permission. He felt his eyes burn with tears and his vision blurred more than it already was, making even harder to see as Clara straddled his lap, body undulating as she rolled her hips down on his lap. Credence sobbed, feeling his body begin to respond, and right beside fear crept shame and disgust. Of course a freak like him would become aroused from this. Of course his body would want this.

Suddenly, her hands weren't the only pair on him. First he felt a single palm, then two others, and then a series of little hands scrabbling over his skin. He tried to blink his tears away, tunneled vision dimming as more and more shapes appeared above him. He twitched and jolted, trying to force his heavy limbs to move, to shove whoever was crowing him away, but soon relaxed when even Clara began to fight the newcomers.

“Get _away_ you little _brats_!” She shouted, lifting herself from Credence's lap. Credence felt like he could suddenly breathe again, and those shapes crowing his vision slowly came into focus, small figures surrounding him, their little and somewhat clammy hands clinging to his limbs, a few large enough to hold his shoulder or bicep, and the much smaller ones wrapping around three or four fingers.

Clara faded further from Credence's vision, urged away by the crowd of children, some of them even tugging at her clothes and arms, not relenting until she was far from Credence. Even with her a safe distance, the children surrounding him remained in place, chattering to each other in a strange mixture of babble and English, apparently mentally delayed from the sort of place they were growing up in. Credence's heart began to slow, his panic sapped from his veins, and from a combination of youthful voices chattering quietly in his ear and the abundance of small hands stroking his hair, cheeks, hands, and legs, Credence sank back into unconsciousness, a sensation of safety overcoming him.

When he woke up a second time, he did so with full awareness of his surroundings. He sat up a bit too fast, making his head spin, but he knew immediately where he had been thrown into. The nude bodies of men, women, and children suggested he had been tossed in the recreation room.

“Good morning!” A youthful but loud voice spoke behind him, and he twisted around to find a young boy no older than five sitting beside him, legs crossed and a smile on his face. “You was sleeping for a _lo-o-ong_ time.”

Credence blinked, not entirely sure what to say, so he began to look around again, wondering just what he was doing here. When a few of the older men and women there began to notice him, they began to gather around him, approaching slowly and with gentle expressions.

“Hello,” A woman greeted him first, kneeling down before him, “Feeling better?”

“Why am I here?” Credence decided to ask, although he knew it was rude to just rebuff her question like that. Meekly, he added, “I'm... fine.”

“Samson brought you here,” A man said from a few feet away, still standing, “Said you needed to learn your place.”

“That was yesterday,” The woman before him added, looking at Credence, “She's probably cooled down now if you want to go look for her.”

Credence grimaced, putting a hand up to the back of his head and immediately wincing when he pushed on the fat bruise there. “I... think not.”

“That's fair,” She said, a smile on her face, “She should be just finishing up in the kitchen by now. If you want to try to avoid her.”

“Wouldn't that just make her angrier?” Credence asked, and the woman shrugged while the others around him laughed.

“I think you've already tested her limits,” The man stated, a delightful glint in his eyes, “I heard the workers in the factory whispering about you, by the way. They're really impressed.”

“Oh.” Credence looked down at his lap, suddenly feeling shy, “I didn't do anything. Samson just threw me around.”

“It's not that,” He said with a roll of his eyes, taking a step closer. Credence ducked his head more, suddenly not wanting to peer up and risk seeing more than what he needs to, “They're impressed by you standing up for them. They know you're different than the other guards, but seeing you question Samson like that... they hadn't seen that sort of fire in someone on their side in a long time.”

Credence bit his lip, then shrugged and pulled his knees to his chest, “I just... got angry, I guess.”

“Well,” The woman beside him said, a smirk on her lips, “I think you should get angry more often.”

Credence glanced her way, although he was a lot less comfortable with looking at a woman's form than a man's, and muttered, “Did I really do anything, though?”

She put a hand on his arm and said, “We can't tell you that, but the factory workers can. Go talk to some of them. Just be careful the floor manager doesn't see you.”

Credence frowned, but he nodded anyways and began to get up. “Samson's in the kitchen?” He clarified, and to the nod of multiple people, he cleared his throat and headed for the exit.

“G'bye!” The little boy who had greeted him first called out just as Credence vanished out the door.

He walked quickly if not ashamed down the halls, making sure no one paid too much attention to him. He kept his shoulders stiff and his head down, walking right past a few other officers headed towards the recreation room, and he managed to reach the stairs leading into the factory without any trouble.

Peering over the rails, he saw the floor manager walking along the middle row, headed away from Credence, so he decided to start with the edge.

He crept down the stairs, hoping he wouldn't be spotted by the manager, and when he managed to get on the ground, he quickly hid behind the lines of workers.

Those immediately around him sort of jumped, but they didn't dare to raise their heads from their work. They didn't want to risk punishment or failure. Credence stayed crouched, peering over one of the worker's desks to make sure the floor manager wasn't near, and then he looked at the workers around him.

They were all young, some so obviously fresh from the Thinning, but some of them looked much older from the lack of sun and the tireless, delicate work. Credence examined what they were making for a time, then finally managed to speak up.

“How long have you been here?” He asked the boy to his right, frowning when he flinched a second time. His hands faltered for only a moment, but he continued to work regardless and bit his bottom lip. Seeing he wasn't going to get anything out of him, Credence looked to his left and asked the young girl there, “How about you? How long have you been here?”

The girl looked at him from the corner of her eye, still working deftly, then whispered, “Two cycles.”

“Cycles?” Credence wondered, his head turning back around when the boy he originally confronted finally spoke up.

“Can't tell time,” He whispered quickly, his brow furrowed in concentration, “So count cycles. Count when new people come in.”

“Ah,” Credence hummed, making himself comfortable on the concrete floor between the two, “Have you two always done this? Always been in the factory?”

“Yes,” They both whispered simultaneously, and then the boy uttered, “They wouldn't want our kind to mix with the others.”

“Others?”

“The people below.” The girl picked up, glancing Credence's way again, “The important people.”

“So you know about the kitchens?” Credence asked, and both of them gave a single nod of their heads, “How did you find out about that place?”

“Hear rumors. Good workers go in. Bad workers come here.” The boy explained, shrugging a shoulder, “Bad workers like to talk.”

Credence hummed, then asked, “And do you know what's below the kitchens?”

At this, both workers paused. Only for a second, but it was noticeable enough for Credence. When they picked their work back up, the boy asked, “Below?”

Credence nodded, then explained, “There's another level. Filled with technology like we've seen in the real world. People work there too.”

Both of them didn't respond to that, but from the expressions on their faces, Credence could tell they weren't exactly happy about the news. Clearing his throat, Credence tried a new tactic, “Why hasn't there been a revolt yet?”

“A revolt?” The girl snored, this time looking at Credence for more than just a moment, “They'd kill each and every one of us.”

“Do you know how many guards there are?” Credence asked her, then looked back at the boy, “Do you know how many are here right now?”

“There are five,” The boy said, brow furrowed, “The floor manager and the four in the rafters.”

Credence smiled a little, then shook his head and said, “There isn't anybody in the rafters. It's just one guy. One guy with one gun with six bullets.”

“You expect us to take on a guy by ourselves?” The girl wondered, looking uncomfortable by the idea.

“I just think that if the others see someone stand up for themselves, they may feel inclined to do the same.”

“And if they don't?”

Credence shrugged, then said, “Then I guess you're all here for a reason.”

It was cruel, but it was exactly those words that made the girl stop her work and look Credence straight in the eye. He could even hear the boy behind him suck in a sharp breath. Credence met the girl's eye, eyebrows raised, and said, “Well? Do you deserve to be here, or do you deserve better?”

The girl pursed her lips, her face pinched tightly, and with a huff, she stood from her table. Those around her gasped and paused their work as well, turning to look at the girl in shock.

“I don't deserve this.” She declared, voice suddenly loud in the spacious room, “None of us deserves this!”

“Hey!” The floor manager shouted from across the floor, already fumbling with his gun, but the girl turned his way without backing down. “Get back to work or you'll regret it!”

A quiet murmur began to drift over the workers, watching with morbid curiosity as the guard yanked out his gun and aimed it straight at her. The girl still didn't waver. She balled her small hands into tight fists, then shouted so loud her voice practically boomed, “I'd rather die than be treated like a pig!”

Immediately after, the guard pulled the trigger. The room filled with the sharp scream of multiple workers, including the girl's, but not a single body was dropped. No one had been shot, because sitting right in front of the guard, the teenage boy had grabbed his wrists and shoved them into the air.

Credence stood, a fire in his eyes, but this wasn't his fight to lead. The girl he had spoken to was already climbing onto her desk, kicking off the tools she had been using for the last two years of her life, and she shouted valiantly, “Why suffer quietly in Hell when you can fight the one man who stands in our way of freedom?! There are _hundreds_ of us! And there is only _one of_ him.”

Spurred on by the words of a driven child, the room exploded into chaos. Three more shots were fired by the officer, but he was overwhelmed and relieved of his gun before he could do any real damage. A mob of people was holding him down, some of them even taking the chance to get a few kicks in, and everyone else took to wrecking the prison they had lived in for the past however many years. Knocking over tables, destroying the product, one of them even threw a metal chair halfway across the room.

But with all of this energy, Credence realized they weren't actually doing anything productive. Taking the reins of this mayhem, Credence hopped onto the table beside the girl and shouted, “Block the doors! Block the elevator!”

The girl he had convinced first began to chant the words, stomping her feet on the table as she did so, and soon enough the whole room was chanting it. With a new directive in mind, they all began to grab the furniture around them, cluttering up the exits and entrances as best as they could. The ruckus was bound to attract more attention, so as long as they took control of this floor before anyone could get in the way, they would be fine.

As the chant went on and the workers continued to revolt, the girl laughed in delight and shouted out her joy. She turned to Credence and practically threw herself into his arms, and Credence luckily caught her around the waist. Grinning, Credence gave the girl a tight squeeze, making sure she knew he was proud of her bravery, and said, “We'll get out of here. You'll see. We'll be in the real world again.”

The girl laughed, but tears were rolling down her cheeks now, and she sobbed out, “I can't wait to go _home_.”

They held each other tighter, the ruckus of those around them a mere hum of background noise, all until a loud, intimidating voice cut across the entire room.

“ _ENOUGH!_ ” He had shouted, stilling the energy in mere moments as the crowd stopped and looked up at their main tormentor. Standing at the top of the rafters, surrounded by men and women with fat guns, was Grindelwald, hands outstretched and face twisted in a sneer.

Credence felt his breath catch in his throat, and he quickly let go of the girl in his arms. He thought about running or hiding, but before he could move more than a foot, Grindelwald was shouting, “Credence!”

He froze, his heart pounding in his ears, and he slowly turned to face the man. He knees were practically knocking together at the rage he found there, but he said nothing and moved no more.

Putting his arms down, Grindelwald declared, “Grab the boy. Gas the room.”

What had been a maelstrom of determined rioting turned into a panicked frenzy as the guards shot fat, smoking canisters into the room. The thicker the white smoke grew, the faster the screaming turned into choked wheezing and violent sobbing. Some unlucky few had been struck directly by the canisters, incapacitating a few and even killing others. Credence felt his eyes and lungs burn, and suddenly he was hacking up painfully just like everyone else in the room. He stumbled towards the stairs, trying to get away from the gas, but his eyes began to sting and water, blurring his vision. Just as he was about halfway up the stairs, he collapsed, and the officers ordered by Grindelwald to retrieve him reluctantly picked him up by the arms and dragged him away.

Leading him out of the gassed room, Credence was thrown to the ground in the hallway where vents were working overtime to filter out the smoke. He collapsed on the ground in a heap of painful, pitiful coughing, groaning in pain as his throat and lungs constricted and his eyes continued to blur.

“I can't leave you alone for even a moment, can I?” Grindelwald said as he stepped closer to the incapacitated boy, the howls and screams of the factory workers echoing behind him. “You're making my life a lot more difficult, boy.”

 

–---------

 

Newt was sprawled out on the couch, head resting in Percival's lap as the man read. He had control of the remote and was currently channel surfing, not finding a single interesting thing on. He heard Percival turn a page in his book, and with a long sigh, he decided that the news would be more interesting than anything else.

Who he saw standing behind a podium and giving a speech nearly made him just shut the television off, but before he could think about it, the man's words were registering in his mind.

“I understand the reluctance our community has concerning the Thinning and, more specifically, my part during the mishap only a month before,” Grindelwald was saying, flanked by two of his guards and wearing all black, just like the others. His face was the only one unmasked, however, and even seeing it made Newt's stomach churn uncomfortably.

“I have thought much about the mistakes that were made, and I admit that there are things that I have not done that allowed such mistakes to happen. After discussing with my most trusted colleagues and Directors of other states, I have decided to put a new idea into action.”

With a wide gesture, Grindelwald was suddenly introducing yet _another_ guard, face masked just like the others, except his armor was detailed with white trim, making him stand out from the others. “In an effort to retain your credence in me, I'd like to introduce the newest member of our team; Roscuro.”

A polite applause resounded from the crowd at the meeting, and Roscuro looked out over them, looking stiff and uncomfortable. Newt slowly sat up, his brow furrowed at the sight of him. Even Percival had lowered his book to watch.

“Roscuro will serve as a second in command. He will be my second opinion and will offer an objective point of view. For him to remain genuinely objective, we have agreed to keep his true identity a secret. He will remain the quiet observer, and will act when I or any of my men and women, step out of line.” Grindelwald finished, and the applause came again. Roscuro only dipped his head, then turned and left the podium with Grindelwald, the two followed by the guards accompanying them.

“Great,” Percival grunted, looking annoyed, “Another armed brat running around my school. Where does this madman even get these ideas?”

“How do you know he'll be at Ilvermorny?” Newt asked, looking up at his lover, and Percival shrugged a single shoulder, turning back to his book.

“That's where Grindelwald likes to lurk. Of course he's going to keep his lackeys nearby.” He paused for a few moments, then looked back at Newt and admitted, “It's probably a good thing you aren't going back there next year. I'm worried about what this Roscuro is going to be like.”

“You'll be safe, though?” Newt asked, not at all prepared to lose yet another part of his life like he lost Credence, “They won't do anything to you, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Percival reassured him, granting him a soft kiss. A kiss that they had shared many times over throughout the summer, but had not ventured past. Neither one of them felt healed enough to put Credence out of their minds when they got intimate. Percival was certain with the morose experience of an older man that they would soon get over their loss and may even tuck the memory of Credence in the furthest depths of their minds, but he was no fool to rush it. He himself was hurting too much to try and convince Newt to get over it already.

When they pulled away, Newt simply tucked his head underneath Percival's chin, enjoying the innocent intimacy. He closed his eyes and stole his warmth, letting the calm rise and fall of Percival's chest soothe him.

“Have you applied to that school yet?” Percival was asking, his voice itself the definition of alluring. Newt hummed, smoothly sliding onto Percival's lap and kissing his neck, trying to feel the vibrations of his voice through his skin.

“I did. They accepted me already,” Newt muttered, sounding a lot less enthusiastic than Percival thought he'd be.

“Are you excited?” Percival ventured, placing his hands on Newt's hips and letting the boy do as he liked.

Newt let out a big sigh, resting his cheek on Percival's shoulder, and he admitted, “I don't know. I... I don't know what I want anymore.”

Percival frowned, his brow creasing, and he began to rub Newt's back in a comforting gesture. Silence stretched between them, the two in their own heads, until Percival finally suggested, “You don't have to go immediately.”

Newt huffed, amused, and said, “I guess, but what would I do instead? Sit here and wait for you to come home?” He closed his eyes and shook his head, “As much as I love you, Percival, I'm not going to be your little housewife.”

“I wasn't implying _that_.” Percival argued, cheeks turning red because he definitely had been, “I just meant... maybe you can do something other than school. This is your first year as an adult. No more homework, no more schedule, no more 10-241... You can do whatever you'd like.”

Newt thought about it, letting his eyes slide open as his mind went through ideas. If he didn't know what he wanted to do in college, how would he decide what to do out of it? Honestly, he just wanted to be busy, to get his mind off of last semester, to let what happened to Credence be just another loss amongst the five percent. But no matter how hard he tried, somewhere deep in his gut, he just felt it was... wrong.

“Do you think...” Newt began to ask, but his voice petered off before he could actually get to the question. They hadn't really talked about Credence, and Newt wasn't sure if he should even be mentioning it. Much less asking if Credence might still be alive somehow. But Percival's interest had been piqued, and after he gave a curious hum, Newt asked, “Do you think... I could work for you?”

Percival blinked, then smirked at the question. “I wouldn't mind a TA. But you aren't going to fit under my desk forever.”

Newt gasped and playfully smacked Percival's shoulder, a smile lighting up his face, and he said, “Mr. Graves! It would be a purely professional relationship!”

“Professional, hmm?” Percival purred, settling his hands on Newt's thighs and stroking the flesh, kneading into his muscle, “Are you sure about that, Mr. Scamander?”

Newt smiled even wider, and he grabbed Percival's hands before he leaned in to kiss him once more. Even if he was still grieving over Credence, he was happy he had someone to grieve with.

 


	4. School Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally, the porn cometh.

With an idea in place for Newt, Percival helped him apply to the school, managed to pull enough strings to actually get him hired, and then sequestered Newt's assistance to strictly himself. Ms. Picquery had caught on to what Percival was doing, but she seemed to turn a blind eye, for at the beginning of the year, Percival was greeting his newest class with Newt sitting at his own smaller desk tucked into the corner. Newt was tapping away on his IGlass listening with one ear as Percival went through the syllabus and his expectations, and he waved at the class when Percival added, “And if you need any help ask my assistant, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt shifted nervously, realizing with a churn of his stomach that he was no older than the kids in this class. His heart thumped angrily in his chest at the thought, and for a moment, his mind was back to the end of last year, being walked to the execution halls, and very nearly dying.

And then he thought of Credence's vacant face as he was walked past him, and he immediately had to shake himself out of the thought.

The day went by as smoothly as the first day of school could go, the students still having summer on their brain, not at all ready to attempt to retain any useful information. By the time lunch came around, Newt felt more exhausted than Percival was, and he had been sitting at his desk the entire time.

Percival went to his own seat, leaning back in the leather with a huff, then looked over at Newt with a curl of his lips. Newt immediately flushed, and squawked out a nervous, “Right now?”

“Why not?” Percival asked, tilting his head towards the door, “Go lock it.”

Newt felt a shudder run through his body, and without another thought, he was getting up from his desk and heading straight for the door. He had his hand on the doorknob, the other about to twist the lock shut, but then the handle was being turned on the other side and the door pushed open.

Newt yelped as he scrambled backward, trying not to be struck in the face, and Percival stood up from his chair.

“Well, hello gentlemen,” Grindelwald chirped out delightedly, stepping further into the room with his guard Roscuro right behind him. Roscuro looked at Newt for a long moment, but he didn't say a word and merely moved on, “Please excuse me, I was just showing my newest officer around the place.”

“You're excused,” Percival grunted, his brow furrowing, waving a hand at them in a shooing gesture. However, Grindelwald seemed to not understand the gesture, or he just outright ignored it, and he stepped further into the room.

“What do you think, boy?” Grindelwald purred, putting a hand on Roscuro's shoulder and giving him a squeeze. The officer didn't answer, didn't even nod, and Grindelwald gave a low, dark chuckle. Newt noticed the officer's hands were balled into tight fists, the only thing belying his emotions. Worried, Newt glanced back up at Percival, wondering what he should do.

“Pardon him, he's awful shy,” Grindelwald was saying to Percival, a smug look on his face. “Why don't I introduce you two? Roscuro, this is Mr. Percival Graves and his assistant, Mr. Nathan Coriander.”

Roscuro stood rigidly, his shoulders trembling, but he didn't say anything even while Newt corrected Grindelwald with a bitter, “It's Newton Scamander.”

Grindelwald gave a non-committal grunt, paying more attention to the tense officer beside him. “Just think, boy,” Grindelwald spoke in a taunting voice, “These are the men you're protecting, being here. These are the kind of people you're serving.” Grindelwald approached Roscuro and placed a firm hand on the back of his neck, squeezing awkwardly over the thick leather collar there, and he growled into the officer's ear, “So don't fail.”

Roscuro didn't respond, but his silence seemed that much more daunting than anything he could have uttered. After a long, tense moment, Grindelwald released Roscuro and announced to the room, “Well, we should be heading back. We have more important things to do, after all. Say goodbye, boy.”

Roscuro stared at Grindelwald, not even turning his head to regard the other two in the room, but Grindelwald didn't seem to care if he listened either way. Instead, he offered a smile to Percival and Newt, then, with a snap of his fingers to catch Roscuro's attention, he turned and left the room. Roscuro hesitated behind him, lingering at the door for just a few seconds longer, and he glanced behind himself at Percival and Newt silently. Percival crossed his arms over his chest, and Newt took a few steps closer to the man, putting a hand on his shoulder. Roscuro's hands squeezed shut, and then he left, closing the door behind himself.

A beat passed. Newt pressed his lips into a hard line while Percival slowly relaxed. Carefully, they glanced at one another, silently trying to gauge if they were the only one confused by the interaction, and as soon as their eyes met, they both began to laugh nervously.

“What was that about?” Newt asked, stepping even closer to his lover, and Percival unraveled his arms so he could wrap one around Newt's waist, keeping him against his side.

“I don't know,” Percival answered honestly, his smile turning to a grimace, “But I think it might be a good idea to keep our distance from those two.”

Newt snorted, resting his cheek against Percival's shoulder, and he uttered, “I thought that was a given.”

Percival huffed, squeezing Newt fondly, and agreed with a gentle hum. “Let's just be especially careful. Okay?”

“Okay,” Newt mumbled, settling his hand over Percival's where it laid over him, letting his body keep him grounded.

Avoiding the two of them ended up being much easier than the two feared. The two of them tended to stay within the classroom, only ever stepping out to go to the restroom or grab a snack. Newt already began to forget about the two of them, more worried about the flurry of emails he had recently received from not only the university that he had applied to, but a handful of others, both local and far away. He was swiping through them with a growing frown as Percival lectured his class, only peeking up and paying attention when a student asked a question about the material. Newt felt a little guilty that he wasn't keeping up with the lesson, but he himself wasn't the one being graded on this material anymore. Besides, with a simple look at his IGlass, he had more important things to worry about than the questions of a freshman.

Come lunch, Newt got up from his desk and settled his hip against Percival's, holding his IGlass aloft and saying, “Listen to this,”

Reading from the screen, Newt announced, “Greylock University extends their condolences to Newton Scamander, for you have missed the registration period. We at Greylock believe every student deserves the right to further knowledge, and implore Mr. Newton Scamander to register immediately for our Spring semester. Greylock U would like to offer a three thousand dollar grant for Mr. Newton Scamander if he registers by the end of this month.”

“That's amazing,” Percival said earnestly, and Newt glanced up at Percival before looking down at his screen.

“But that's not it. I have emails from four other schools, Percival. Listen,” Newt continued, scrolling along his screen until he opened up the next one.

“Dear Mr. Newton Artemis Scamander. Our administration has reviewed your high school grades and your scores on the 10-241 and would like to extend a personal invitation to apply for our Spring semester at Durmstrang University. Apply and get accepted before the end of the year and we will see to your moving costs and the cost of tuition for your first three semesters.”

Newt scrolled again, and went on, “To Mr. Newton A. F. Scamander. We at the Beauxbatons Institute would like to congratulate you for recently graduating high school and scoring exceptionally well on your 10-241. Please follow the link below to apply to our institute, and we will gift you a grant of fifteen hundred dollars and a free living space on campus.”

Scrolling again, Newt added a bit loudly, “Mister Scamander. Koldovstoretz University is extremely interested. Follow below for a scholarship!”

And then again, louder, “We at Uagadou are extremely interested. Please consider a grant of forty-five hundred dollars!”

Once again, “The University of the Scotland Highlands are willing to offer a two-year tuition!”

Finally, Percival threw out a hand, grabbing Newt by the wrist and forcing him to stop, and with a touch of worry, he asked, “What exactly is so wrong about this? These international schools are interested in you! You should be excited!”

“I haven't applied to any of these schools, Percival,” Newt explained, voice trembling, brows furrowed, “How did they get my information? Why—Why are they so interested in me all of a sudden?”

“You must have scored well on the 10-241.” Percival tried to soothe, but Newt wouldn't have it. He placed the IGlass firmly on the desk, hands shaking.

“Universities don't just--just _reach out_ to high school graduates, Percival. Especially not international ones! And I never got an email like this from Greylock! Greylock only responded to me when I applied!”

“Newt,” Percival sighed, dipping his head, but now Newt was on a roll.

“I earned the same, if not _worse_ grades this year than I had before!”

“Newton.” Percival groaned, tilting his head back now.

“I barely even think I did much better than anyone else on the bloody Thinning!”

“Newton!” Percival shouted this time, effectively shutting the boy up in moments and finally getting his attention. When he was sure Newt's typically wavering eye contact was going to stay, he asked in a much gentler voice, “Why is this bothering you?”

Newt opened his mouth to respond, but barely got a word out. It seemed he himself didn't entirely know, but with the look in his eyes it was obvious that it wasn't just bothering him, it was getting to him. With a concerned frown, Percival extended an arm, and Newt took the offer without a second thought. He dropped into Percival's lap with an exhausted huff, tucking his nose against the man's neck and wrapping his arms around his thick torso. Graves, meanwhile, merely settled his arm across Newt's back and began to run his hand up and down his spine.

“I don't like the schools here, Percival... It feels like someone's just... pulling the strings.” Newt mumbled, closing his eyes and letting his man soothe him, “But I don't know any of these schools... I don't know what to do... I can't go to _all_ of them.”

The more Percival stroked his back, the more relaxed Newt became, until finally, he was sitting upright again, frowning deeply. “I don't even know what I want to study anymore, Percival... Last year was just... so much.”

“It's alright to take it one step at a time, Newt.” Percival coaxed him, taking one of his hands and slowly massaging it, rubbing a firm thumb into the center of his palm. “Just because they're reaching out to you doesn't mean you have to make a decision right away. You're still young. You still have time.”

“But what if they retract their offers?” Newt asked, stressed, “What if I decide to apply and they refuse? What if—What if I mess up?” He took a breath, then asked quietly, “What if I get accepted somewhere international and have to leave you behind?”

“Newton,” Percival sighed, offering the young man a gentle smile, “I'm not going anywhere, do you understand? If you go to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons or even Uagadou, I'll be right here, waiting for you to get your Masters and come on back. And if you decide to go to Greylock instead, then I will make sure I drive down and visit you whenever I can.”

Sighing deeply, Newt glanced back towards the IGlass, obviously worried. Ultimately, however, he tucked his head against Percival's shoulder and mumbled, “I wish Credence were here... He could help me decide.”

Percival's smile turned melancholic, and he said, “He would probably go with you, wherever you decided to go.” Newt smiled at the thought, and he closed his eyes and relaxed further, trying to find peace in this moment of quiet between them.

Stalking the halls of the school were only a handful of officers, including Roscuro and Grindelwald. There was no need to keep a large unit since it was only the beginning of the school year. There was still plenty of time before that year's 10-241 was upon them. Until then, all the officers had to do was ensure the safety of the students. Roscuro took the job seriously, constantly pacing the halls even during classes, staring down students running late or making their way to the restrooms. He would randomly stop a few students, and although he didn't say anything to them, he would check them for their student ID's, ensure they had hall passes, and if they didn't, he would force them to upend their bags, making sure no contraband was present. Rumors filled the school about Roscuro due to his unusually strict behavior, and as Percival's TA, Newt tended to overhear a lot more than Percival did. Newt, with his youth and ability to blend into the crowd, managed to overhear conversations that students would have cut short had a faculty member been near.

One day, while Newt was getting himself a soda from the nearest vending machine after school, he heard the whispered conversation of a group of students exiting from the library.

“...then Officer Roscuro grabbed her by the hair and practically threw her across the hall!” One girl hissed conspiratorially, tucking her books into her backpack. “He even took out his nightstick and threatened her!”

“Who does he think he is?” One of her friends fumed, but the third clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.

“They were fighting. It's his job to step in.” She stated flatly, but her friends didn't agree.

“He didn't have to _grab_ her like that!” One claimed.

“And was it really necessary to get his nightstick? She's just a teenage girl, not a wrestler!”

“It's not like he actually beat her up or anything,” The third girl pointed out, dismissive, “Officers have done a lot worse in this school before.”

Newt turned his head towards them, curious, and the other girls seemed to hesitantly agree to that statement.

“He didn't have to grab her so roughly,” The first argued still, and they began to walk away, never noticing Newt by the vending machine, “Officers like him think they can just control anyone. They need to learn that we're not just cattle to be poked and prodded at.”

The group of girls turned down the hall as the other two agreed with the first, and Newt hesitated by the vending machine, thinking about what he had just heard. It wasn't the first time he had heard of the newest officer threatening the students in the school, but it _was_ the first time he had heard of them actually physically assaulting one of them. Sure it was to break up a fight, but the fact of the matter was that this officer—Roscuro—put his hand on a youth. The realization of that made Newt furious. Especially considering that this wasn't the first instance that such a thing had happened, nor, apparently, the worst.

Forgetting the soda he had paid for, Newt turned away from where the girls had vanished to and instead made his way towards the security office, a place Percival and he had agreed to stay away from for obvious reasons. He found Roscuro there, of course, but what Newt didn't expect was that Roscuro was alone, sitting behind one of the monitors, scouring through recorded footage as if he were looking for something. He didn't notice Newt until the redhead slammed the door shut behind him, and only then did Roscuro turn around, then jump to his feet.

Newt thought Roscuro might yell at him, demand he leave the office, but Roscuro didn't speak. He barely even breathed, Newt thought, for he couldn't hear the familiar drag of breath through the perforated mask. Deciding to not let his silence get to him, Newt remained determined to confront Roscuro about what he had heard happened.

“There was a fight, today?” Newt questioned, trying to keep his voice from wavering and focusing on remaining stoic. Roscuro didn't answer, not even with a nod of his head. Newt waited longer for an answer, but when it became obvious he wasn't going to get one, he instead asked, “A fight you broke up?”

Roscuro clenched his hand into a fist. It was the only sort of reaction he had received. Newt licked his lips anxiously, trying with difficulty to meet the man's eyes through the glossy black visor of his mask. “The students said you grabbed that girl. That you hurt her.” Newt explained, brows furrowing, “They said you pulled her by her hair.”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Roscuro's fist loosened, then relaxed. Newt glanced down at it, trying to understand what it could mean. With the silent man providing no help, Newt continued to say, “I-I don't care what title you have. If you lay a hand on another student again, I'll.... I'll make sure you pay for it.”

There was a muffled huff of breath from behind the mask, and it nearly startled Newt to hear it. It was barely audible, and yet compared to the lack of sound Roscuro had provided beforehand, it made Newt's heart race in fear.

And then Newt's heart was practically convulsing when Roscuro approached him with slow, calculated steps. Newt backed away immediately, but the office was small, and Newt backed himself up against the door, not only pinning himself there, but trapping himself within the room. He tried to push the door open, then remembered with a whimper that it swung _in_.

When Roscuro was standing right in front of him, towering over him in his silent, intimidating way, he began to lift a gloved hand, making Newt flinch backward. Roscuro paused, waiting for Newt to relax, then resumed bringing his hand up, until his fingertips were just brushing against Newt's jaw. Newt jerked again, expecting to be hit, expecting some sort of backlash, but Roscuro only stroked his face, from the bottom of his ear down to the point of his chin. At the gentle touch, Newt slowly turned his gaze back at the visor of Roscuro's mask, trying to see through it, trying to determine just _what_ was going through this man's mind.

And then he spoke. It was only a word, though. Only a soft whisper of “Newt,” before Roscuro suddenly jerked away, choking wetly and convulsing where he stood, as if he were being electrocuted from the inside. Newt watched dumbly, unsure what was happening in front of him, and he jumped out of the way when Roscuro suddenly collapsed in a gasping heap on the ground, body trembling with aftershocks.

“O-oh my God,” Newt wheezed, hands flailing aimlessly in the air, and then he was dropping down beside Roscuro, rolling him onto his back and going to check his pulse. In order to do so, Newt had to grab Roscuro by the collar and tear open the turtle-necked material, exposing a fat, leather collar with a strange, box-shaped device pressed right into his throat.

“What?” Newt whispered, momentarily frozen by the unexpected device, but Roscuro didn't seem concerned about whatever it was he wore around his neck. Instead, his head lolled to the side and a low groan came from him, followed by another debilitating bout of convulsing, gagging, and choking. Newt watched on in horror, scared that Roscuro was having a series of seizures, if maybe the device on his neck, now blinking red, was supposed to be stopping them and failing. He didn't know what to do in such a case, and when the convulsing ceased, Newt gasped out, “I-I'm going to get help.”

He was just getting a foot underneath him when Roscuro snatched his wrist in his hand, stalling Newt for a few, panting moments, and then Roscuro's group loosened and slipped completely, dropping to the floor as he fell unconscious.

“Bugger! Shit!” Newt huffed, getting to his feet anyways and exiting the security office in a rush, running down the hall to get a nurse, a faculty member, another officer, just _anyone_ to help him with the fainted man. In his panic, he ran right into an unsuspecting man, and barely waited two moments before he grabbed the man by the arm and blurted, “S-someone fainted—one of the officers—needs help—!”

Newt froze when the man turned, the mismatched yet familiar eyes of Grindelwald staring down at him, and he immediately let go of his arm. Still, Grindelwald continued to leer, and Newt took a few steps backward just in case. There was no time to be afraid of this person. A man could be dying.

“O-One of your officers collapsed in the security room!” Newt explained. When Grindelwald's eyes narrowed, Newt added desperately, “Roscuro—He's unconscious!”

Almost immediately, Grindelwald's eyes widened, and he stepped around Newt to march quickly down the halls. Newt followed after him, heart racing and mind overrun with worry--what if they were too late? What if Roscuro had choked to death? What if the seizures were a symptom of something worse? When they approached the open door of the office, however, Grindelwald and Newt found Roscuro sitting up on the floor, propped up against the desk with his shaking hands trying to button the collar of his coat back up. He looked up when Grindelwald barked out, “Roscuro,” and immediately scrambled to his feet.

“Don't get up, you might collapse again!” Newt rushed to say, lunging forward to force Roscuro back down onto the ground, but Grindelwald grabbed the small man by the back of his shirt and threw him backward, uncaring that Newt was knocked off-balance and landed hard on his backside.

“No--!” Roscuro spoke again, only to immediately seize up again, muscles gone tight and body thrashing. He collapsed once more to his knees, and Grindelwald's worry immediately vanished in lieu of anger.

“Ah,” Grindelwald spoke up, disappointed and uncaring of Roscuro's trembling form, trying to suppress each gag that wracked him. “I see now what had happened. You tried breaking our little agreement, didn't you?”

Newt watched with a pained wince as Roscuro shook his head desperately, still panting heavily, still suffering from the seizures that had overwhelmed him. Grindelwald began to pace around his prone form, hands clutched together behind his back as he said, “You're lying to me. You tried to betray me.”

Again, Roscuro shook his head, arms trembling as he held himself up. Newt bit back his tongue for only a moment longer before declaring loudly, “Leave him alone, he's just had a seizure! He needs to go to the hospital!”

Grindelwald looked up at Newt, brows lifted as if he had forgotten the redhead was there. He regarded Newt with a long look, then crouched down long enough to grab Roscuro by the arms and force him up onto his feet. Even though Roscuro swayed dangerously to and fro, Grindelwald uttered, “Let's take this conversation somewhere away from prying eyes.”

Newt fumed, pushing himself back to his feet, and demanded, “Take this man to the hospital _now_ , Grindelwald!”

Weakly, Roscuro groaned, unable to balance himself on his own two feet, but Grindelwald only sneered at Newt and tugged him forward, keeping a hand on his arm in order to keep him relatively steady.

“Stop sticking your nose in other people's business, Ned. It'll get you in a lot of trouble one of these days.” Grindelwald threatened, shoving past Newt and forcing Roscuro to walk forward.

“You bloody idiot!” Newt shouted as the two of them walked away, “If he dies, you'll be responsible!” When that didn't get him to stop, Newt angrily corrected, “And my name is Newt!”

Still, Grindelwald and Roscuro walked down the halls, Roscuro worse for wear. When they were gone from Newt's sight, the redhead clenched his jaw tight and tried to settle his anger. The more the anger left him, however, the more confused he became.

Roscuro was a mystery, a man Newt, nor anyone, knew about. He was obviously sickly if the convulsions were anything to go by, which was strange in itself considering he was an officer. Newt never thought Americans would hire someone so dangerously ill for a job as taxing and physically demanding as this.

Recalling what he had seen Roscuro doing before he had caught his attention, Newt turned his attention back towards the security office, the door hanging open still. He peeked up and down the hallway, ensuring he was the only one there, then slipped inside the office, quietly closing and locking the door behind him. He even made sure to close the shades to the window peeking inside.

Alone in the office, Newt turned to the monitor glowing in front of him. There were a series of cameras currently on the screen, the footage from each displaying a crowded school, with students walking through the halls as they headed towards the canteen. Newt's brows furrowed, and he lowered himself into the seat Roscuro had left. He rewound the footage, watching as students walked backward in quick succession, the halls emptying and classrooms filling up until only officers were left stalking the halls. Newt resumed playing the footage, looking over the displayed cameras, wondering what exactly, Roscuro had been looking for. He watched for a minute, then for two, and then a door opened in one of the empty halls and Newt watched in surprise as he himself stepped out of the classroom, walking quickly down the halls and towards the restrooms.

He recalled this happening, although it had been a week since. He was assisting the students with an experiment when it blew up in their faces. It wasn't harmful, not at all, but it had the tendency to stain skin, and all of the students were using the sinks in the class. Newt had rushed out and made his way to the faculty bathroom nearby in order to clean himself up. Newt didn't understand why Roscuro was watching a week old recording, especially one that had Newt in it, he couldn't explain. Then, only ten seconds after Newt turned down the hall from Percival's classroom, a figure stepped into the camera's view and followed him.

Newt blinked, rewound the tapes again, then played it once more. The figure hadn't been spotted in the footage from the hallway they came from, but the cameras along the path to the faculty bathroom did. The figure, dressed in a black coat popular amongst the faculty and a wide-brim hat, walked calmly down the halls, following Newt at a distance, with their head turned down and their hands in their pockets. When Newt used his faculty badge to open the bathroom and stepped inside, the figure approached the door, tested the knob, then continued to walk when they found it locked.

The figure walked out of the view of one camera, but never appeared in the next. Newt didn't know what it meant. Newt didn't know who it could have been. Percival would have still been in the classroom, and even if he had followed Newt, he had his own faculty card to unlock the bathroom. He wouldn't have given up after one attempt. Rewinding the footage one last time, Newt watched again as he stepped out of Percival's classroom, walked quickly down the hall, and was unknowingly tailed by a figure in dark clothes that seemed to appear from nowhere and vanish all the same.

Newt paused the footage just as the figure stepped around the corner, eyes catching a glimpse of pale yellow just underneath the hat.

Newt jerked upright when his phone suddenly chimed with a new message. Sliding the device from his pocket, Newt cursed when he saw it was simply Percival, inquiring where he had gone to. He had only left to grab a soda. He had been gone for far too long, now.

Deciding that he was thinking too much about the situation, Newt stepped out of the security office, hurried back to the vending machine he had gone to initially, grabbed his drink, and made his way back to Percival's classroom.

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” He said as he entered the room, smiling at Percival when the man gave him a disapproving look.

“It's been a month, Newt. You can't possibly have gotten lost again.” Percival claimed, and Newt laughed lightly.

“I just start thinking sometimes and I lose track of where I'm going,” Newt offered, seating himself atop Percival's desk and cracking open his soda, immediately taking a sip. Percival hummed and placed his hands on Newt's thighs, tugging at them until they were parted, hanging down on either side of Percival's chair.

“And what do you think of?” Percival questioned, stroking Newt's thighs until the boy was smiling behind his can of soda.

“Just things,” Newt said teasingly, letting his gaze wander. His mind also began to wander, and he found himself thinking about Roscuro once again. He didn't realize he had been silent for far too long until Percival was pinching his side, making him jolt and glare at the man.

“You're a mile away, Newt,” Percival stated, brows furrowed and concern in his dark eyes, “What's on your mind?”

Newt wondered if he should mention Roscuro. He didn't think Percival would be particularly happy about it, not after they had agreed to do their best to stay away from him and Grindelwald. He wondered if Percival would even care that Roscuro had been convulsing so violently, or that Newt had seen strange footage of a blond stranger following him during school hours. In the end, Newt decided against being honest, and merely told Percival, “I think I'm going to apply for Durmstrang.”

When Percival lifted a brow, Newt explained, “They have a very good online course. So I don't have to go all the way to Scandinavia. I'll be able to stay here for a little bit longer. Besides, they have a very interesting social science course.”

“Social science?” Percival frowned, put off, “You want to be a politician?”

Clicking his tongue, Newt stated, “I want to be a sociologist. Learn about society. What makes the masses decide on the things they do, the laws they put in place...”

“The methods they use to cull their five percent?” Percival gathered, and Newt gave him a guilty look.

“The 10-241 doesn't have to exist.” Newt muttered, putting his soda aside, then sliding down into Percival's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck, “Maybe if I study sociology, I'll be able to get rid of it. Replace it with something else.”

Percival sighed through his nose, settling his hands on Newt's hips, and said, “Something that will target a different group of people and kill them instead?”

Newt pouted, but he didn't respond. Percival didn't particularly want him to. It was dangerous thinking in a society like theirs. Percival thought they should feel lucky that the culling was based strictly on intelligence, and not something as unreliable as mental health or age. He didn't bother bringing it up, however. If he mentioned Britain's own culling methods, he was almost certain Newt would only grow angry.

“We've spent too long here,” Percival then decided, leaning in and kissing Newt on the lips, “Let's go home and have dinner. We can talk more about Durmstrang then.”

Sighing, Newt muttered, “Okay,” And got off of Percival's lap, allowing the man on his feet.

It was in Percival's car that Newt received an email. Taking out his IGlass, he opened up the newest email in his queue and read an email from Greylock with a vague curiosity.

“Huh,” Newt vocalized, catching Percival's attention.

“What is it?” He prompted, and Newt slowly scrolled down the email, continuing to read.

“Greylock emailed me,” Newt supplied distantly, still reading. A few more seconds of silence, and then Newt said, “They changed their offer.”

“What to?” Percival hummed, glancing over at the man, frowning when he saw Newt's brows raise in surprise.

“They—They want to give me a full ride.” He said, breathless, and his head snapped up, looking at Percival, “They're offering to pay for the whole thing! Books, living arrangements— _everything_!”

“What?” Percival said, smiling, “You can't be serious!”

“I am!” Newt laughed, dropping his phone in his lap so he could cover his face, disbelieving, “A-and Greylock has online classes as well! Not as many as Durmstrang, b-but I won't have to leave immediately!”

“And their courses?” Percival prompted, and Newt immediately began to nod.

“Best social science course in the country!” Newt declared, beaming, “This is—This is _impossible_!”

“It seems like Greylock doesn't want to lose you,” Percival remarked with a grin, and Newt laughed aloud. “So? What do you think?”

“I—I... I _have_ to!” Newt gasped, picking up his phone again, “They're offering me a full ride, Percival! How can the other schools beat that?”

“By offering their own full rides?” Percival suggested, and Newt affixed him with a flat look.

“They could offer me a mansion in their country. But they wouldn't be able to offer you a car trip away.” Newt said, a bit shyly, and Percival did a double-take, as if to make sure Newt wasn't kidding.

“Newt,” He said a bit breathlessly, actually feeling touched by the sentiment. “I.... don't know what to say.”

With a smile, Newt said pleasantly, “You can say you'll visit me whenever you can when I do end up on campus,” He suggested, leaning across the console to give Percival a kiss on the cheek, “And you can say that you'll keep your guest room open for me whenever I have a holiday?”

“Newton Scamander,” Percival tutted, and Newt only smiled wider, “Guest room? Really? The second you come to visit, I'm keeping you in _my_ bed.”

The good news lasted all throughout dinner, and when they went upstairs to get a bit of shut-eye, Newt gave Percival a long, deep kiss, and whispered into Percival's ear, “I'm excited... I'm glad you told me to wait.”

“Are you going to register, then?” Percival asked sleepily, wrapping his arms around Newt's body, pulling him tight to his chest.

“I think so.” Newt hummed, running his hand up and down Percival's side, playing with the fabric of his shirt, “I... I can't believe this is happening. A _full ride_.”

“It's exciting,” Percival agreed. Then, with a sly tug to his lips, he added, “I know how much you love a good riding.”

Silence stretched for a heavy moment, and while Percival expected Newt to playfully shove him or call him perverted, he certainly didn't expect Newt to push himself up on his hands, then settle himself down atop Percival's lap. In that moment, Percival's sleepiness vanished, and he looked up at Newt with a keen gaze, one that Newt calmly returned.

“We... haven't been together for a while.” Newt mentioned softly, stroking his hands up and down Percival's chest, dragging his shirt with them. Percival settled his own hands on Newt's thighs, feeling the warmth of his body through his sleeping shorts, “... I miss you.”

“I didn't want to rush anything....” Percival tried to explain, and Newt smiled down at him, appreciative.

“Thank you,” He said, genuinely, “But... I think enough time has passed. Don't you?”

“Yes,” Percival breathed. He would have been stupid to refuse, especially with Newt already straddling him, already touching Percival's chest, stroking him through his shirt as if he wouldn't dare to take his hands off of him. Slowly, Newt lowered himself until they were chest to chest, Percival's hands sliding to Newt's backside and giving him a firm squeeze. Newt pressed a soft kiss to Percival's lips, eyes sliding shut as he did so, and he smiled when Percival freely returned it. Percival allowed Newt to set the pace, and as soon as Newt realized that he was in control of the situation, he planned to ruin Percival's patience.

Without a second thought, Newt began to rock against Percival's lap, grinding down on Percival's groin, not letting up until the man beneath him was breathing heavily and growing stiff. With a small smile, Newt pressed a few fleeting kisses along Percival's jawline, proceeding to slide a hand in between their bodies and underneath the waistband of Percival's sleeping pants.

“Did you miss me too?” Newt whispered, giving Percival a firm squeeze that made the man's breath shudder. With a soft laugh, Newt lifted his hips from Percival's lap to give himself enough space to stroke him, and he teased, “It feels like you might have.”

“I did,” Percival panted, tilting his head back. Newt pressed his thumb to the head of Percival's cock, rubbing in firm, little circles until Percival was groaning. “So much.”

“What did you miss the most?” Newt asked, pushing Percival's shirt up with his other hand, baring his chest, which he proceeded to kiss and nibble at. “My mouth?”

He slid down Percival's body, leaving in his wake a series of wet tongue-kisses, following the line of muscle along his stomach. When he got to Percival's pelvis, he took a deep breath, taking in Percival's scent, his arousal, before he trailed his kisses up Percival's length. When he reached the tip, he swirled his tongue around it once, then sank down on him, giving a lewd slurp the further he went. Percival sighed in pleasure, a hand going down to stroke Newt's hair, gently urging him to take more of him. His touch remained gentle, even as Newt began to slowly bob his head, saliva dripping down his length with every stroke of his tongue.

Newt moaned softly, and Percival echoed the sound softly, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of Newt's wet mouth squeezing tight around him. When Newt wrapped his fingers around the base of Percival's cock and began to stroke, Percival whispered out his name and just barely restrained himself from thrusting up.

Slowly, almost tantalizingly, Newt pulled off of Percival's cock with a wet slurp, his tongue lingering on the head for two more licks, and then he began pumping Percival with his fist in long strokes, squeezing his fingers just underneath the head, then pulling back down again. Looking up at Percival, Newt asked in a roughened voice, “Will you be gentle with me? It's been so long...”

Percival offered Newt a smirk, then pointed out, “I fucked your throat the same day you gave me your first blowjob. I don't think I need to be too gentle.”

Newt blushed at the reminder, and he gave Percival a disapproving look, although he couldn't keep the smile from his mouth. “That was my mouth, not my body.” He kissed Percival's pelvis, then said gently, “I just want to make sure you're going to stretch me out well.”

Humming, Percival tucked one arm behind his head, then crooked his fingers at Newt in a come-hither motion. “Come sit on my hand and I'll stretch you out as much as you'd like.”

Smiling, Newt pulled away from Percival's cock, but instead of climbing up to sit on his hand like ordered, Newt slid off the bed and began rummaging through the bedside table, finding a long-forgotten bottle of lubricant. He passed the bottle over to Percival, who methodically poured a handful of lube into his palm, working the sloppy liquid over and between his fingers. Meanwhile, Newt was pulling his clothes off one piece at a time, letting his sleep-shirt fall to the floor first, then his pants and boxers soon after. Once nude, Newt climbed back onto the bed and made his way over Percival's body, although he straddled his abdomen backward, giving Percival a nice view of the expanse of his back.

“Now that's unfair,” Percival remarked playfully, using his dry hand to spread Newt's ass, loving the sight more than he was letting on, “I don't get to see your handsome face when you come?”

Newt huffed and shook his little ass, saying cockily, “You get to look at this, don't you?” Percival responded with a tut and slapped a hand firmly against his backside, making Newt yelp delightedly.

“Naughty,” Percival chuckled, stretching him apart once more, then sinking his first finger inside of Newt's ass, making sure he went slow and gentle, working his finger in and out until it sank down to the second knuckle. Newt sighed, rolling his head back and slowly rocking his hips, then he dipped down, bending over at the waist, and took Percival back in his mouth. Percival grunted in surprise, barely suspecting the boy to be so bold, but he wasn't going to question him.

As promised, Percival took his time to work Newt open. Even when he felt loose around one finger, Percival didn't add another. Instead, he pushed his finger in as deep as he could, massaging him gently from the inside, stroking every last bit of him that he could reach with just one finger. Newt seemed to reciprocate the gentleness, leaving kitten-licks along Percival's shaft, kissing and slurping at the tip of his cock. He played his fingers against Percival's sack, rubbing and fondling him. When Percival finally did press in a second finger, Newt moaned breathily against his skin, then ducked his head further to suck and lick at the base of his dick, squeezing a hand and working it in short strokes around the head.

“Damn,” Percival breathed, watching as his fingers sink into Newt's body, then slide back out, the lubricant glossy on his freckled skin. He couldn't see much of anything else from Newt except for his back, shoulders, and hair, which bobbed slowly with every long lick he gave. “I really did miss this...” He spread his fingers as wide as he could as they were buried deep in Newt's ass, and Newt whined, his thighs trembling the wider he was stretched.

“P-Percival...” Newt gasped, sucking in a sharp breath when Percival relented. Smirking, Percival resumed the slow in-and-out of his fingers, but as soon as Newt resumed his own attention to Percival's dick, he pressed in deep and stretched him again, and Newt choked on Percival's cock as he struggled to moan. Percival cackled almost cruelly, relaxed his fingers and pulled them out, then pressed in a third alongside them. Newt yanked away from Percival's erection, shuddering a gasp and twitching his hips backward. Percival worked his fingers slowly, keeping them pressed together, getting Newt comfortable to the stretch.

“Okay?” Percival asked gently, trying to ignore the way the squelch made his cock twitch. Newt panted hotly on Percival's pelvis, still holding onto his cock.

“Yes,” He whispered, swallowing back a whine, “S'good.”

“Ready?” Percival then asked, licking his lips, and Newt jerked backward once more, moaning.

“I—I think so...” He said, peeking back at Percival, and the man pressed his fingers in twice more before pulling out completely.

“Are you going to face me this time?” Percival asked while Newt pushed himself up and began to re-position himself. Newt smiled down at Percival, indeed turning around so he could meet his eye.

Sitting on his hips, Newt asked, “Is this better?” and he took Percival's wandering hands as approval. Newt plucked the bottle of lube from beside Percival, pouring some in his hands then reaching behind himself so that he could spread it along Percival's cock.

“Mm... both sights are gorgeous,” Percival complimented, letting Newt slick him up while he felt up Newt's body, massaging his thighs, his abdomen, his hips. “But I love your eyes on me.”

Newt snorted at that, disbelieving, and remarked, “Which is why you prefer me tucked under your desk.” He lifted himself from Percival's body, holding Percival still, then slowly began to sink down on him. His breath caught at the pressure, his eyelids fluttering shut, and Percival held him by the hips to help him sink down slowly. Halfway down, Newt pulled back up, then resumed his descent, gritting his teeth.

“Tight...” Percival breathed, watching as Newt got comfortable sitting on his lap, split wide on Percival's cock. He massaged Newt's hips, and he kept his eyes on the man's face, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Newt panted, giving himself a few quick strokes, probably to take the edge off the pain. Percival continued to massage him, feeling a little bad, wondering if he should have been more patient with the prep. But then Newt was tilting his head back and, with a heavy breath, moaned out, “God, I forgot how good this was...”

“Don't forget about me,” Percival said, smirking when Newt blinked his eyes open and looked down at him in surprise.

“Oh, right.” He said playfully, lifting his hips, then slowly bringing them down again, “Sorry. Guess I got distracted.”

Chuckling, Percival threatened, “I swear, Newt, if you start thinking about college--”

“I'm not!” Newt gasped, bringing his hips down harder as if to prove his point. He leaned forward a little more, putting his hands on Percival's shoulders, and continued to rock his hips before asking in a breathless voice, “Do you think Greylock dorms are co-ed?”

Percival all but growled, and he grabbed Newt by the thighs and tossed them around, getting a shriek from his boy as he turned the tables on him. Once Newt had hit the mattress, the redhead began to laugh from the thrill. Percival covered his mouth with a hand, but Newt's giggles still came through, even when Percival began to thrust into him with no remorse. From under his hand, Newt's laughter turned to giggling moans, and his legs wrapped tightly around Percival's waist, heels digging into his bottom.

Percival groaned right into Newt's ear, the hand clamped down on Newt's mouth tightening, and he questioned in a dark voice, “You really think I'd let my boy sleep in the same room as some stranger? Look at you, cruel boy. No one can resist something as gorgeous as you.”

Pulling away from Newt's mouth, Percival instead grabbed the boy by a handful of hair and questioned, “Do you think they'll just let you be? No, they'll put their hands all over you, won't they? Would you like that? Being fucked by a stranger?”

“No—o...” Newt moaned, his body throbbing around Percival, clamping down tightly on him, spurring the man to drill into him harder. Tangling his own fingers in Percival's hair, Newt panted out, “Only want you....”

“You say that now,” Percival huffed, tugging Newt's hand from his hair so he could sit up on his knees. Holding Newt by his thighs, he put his back into each thrust, making Newt and the bed bounce with each rough jolt. “Wait 'til you find some handsome boy your age. You'll be away from me for so long. You won't be able to last.”

Newt bit down on his bottom lip, whining pitifully, and he reached down to touch himself, pumping himself fast and tight. “I won't,” He claimed, eyes dazed and voice jumping in pitch with Percival's motions, “I'll—I'll buy—a-a toy.”

“Oh yeah?” Percival smirked, loving the way Newt was squirming, loving the words he was speaking, “Will you call me often? Take pictures and videos?”

“God, yes,” Newt gasped, tossing his head back, thighs trembling and cock leaking. He was so close, Percival could feel it, but Newt was holding himself back, trying to drag it out. “So many videos... One every day...”

“Mmm... I'll have to watch each and every one to get me through the semester,” He thrust once, twice more, and knew he was going to come himself. He reached between them, wrapping his hand around Newt's which was still frantically tugging on his cock, and added more pressure, making the boy cry out and burst, spilling hot spend over their hands and his hips.

“God—Percival!” Newt moaned, entire body rigid until the last of his arousal was squeezed out of him. Percival gave a handful more thrusts, gritting his teeth and chasing his pleasure, and he buried himself in the boy as deep as he could go before he came, filling him up, weaning out a few final whimpers. As soon as he was spent, Percival slowly began to pull out, and Newt let out an overstimulated whimper before they disconnected. Newt's legs fell from Percival's hips, his chest still heaving with each breath. Percival dropped onto the bed beside him, trying to catch his own breath. He turned to look at Percival, and Percival looked right back at him.

Still breathless, Newt said, “You know I'm not going to leave you like that, Percival...”

The man didn't respond immediately, but the smile on his face made Newt think that he was reassured to hear such a thing. Newt scooted himself closer to Percival, curling up against his side, and placed a soft kiss on his lips before whispering, “I love you.”

Percival sighed through his nose, returned the kiss, and responded, “I love you too, in a way.”

Newt smiled. It didn't bother him. He already knew Percival wouldn't ever love him like he loved Credence, and Newt was just fine with that. They were in love, that was all that mattered.

They were in love, even if it didn't feel entirely the same without Credence.

 


	5. Demasked...ish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Threesome time
> 
> until Newt fucks it up lol

A few days later, Newt ran into Roscuro again. It was during class. Percival had told Newt to walk an ill student to the nurse's office then come back, and he had just stepped back into the hallway when he spied the familiar mask and armor set. Without thinking much of it, Newt quickly approached the man.

“Roscuro!” He called out, catching the officer's attention. Roscuro faltered when he saw just who was approaching him, but he remained still, allowing Newt to come close all the same. As soon as they were side-by-side, Newt asked him, “A-are you feeling okay?”

Roscuro didn't answer. Newt licked his lips and didn't let it demoralize him. Instead, he said, “Your seizures looked bad. You should really think about seeing a doctor, you know.”

When Roscuro _still_ didn't answer, Newt pressed his lips into a firm line and said stubbornly, “Well, I can tell this doesn't matter much to you. Sorry for worrying.”

Angrily, Newt attempted to storm past Roscuro, but his hand was caught before he could get far and he was turned back around, looking Roscuro in the eye—or rather, the visor. He didn't know what sort of expression Roscuro was wearing, if he were touched by Newt's worry or annoyed by it, but the gentle way Roscuro held his hand, the minute press of his thumb against Newt's palm, it felt soothing. Reassuring. Appreciative. Newt thought he was nuts, assuming there were _feelings_ being passed through a simple touch.

Beginning to understand—even if it is just slightly—Newt asked Roscuro, “You... _are_ doing better, aren't you?”

A gentle squeeze to his hand, lasting a good few seconds before relaxing, and Newt felt his shoulders slump in relief. He took a step closer to him, offering him a timid smile, and he said in a genuine tone, “Good. I'm glad.”

He could hear the soft intake of breath beneath the mask, could feel the quivering in Roscuro's hand, which he stilled by squeezing in return. Emboldened, Newt admitted, “You know... I thought you officers were people to be afraid of, but... you're not so bad, are you?” And then, with a slight laugh, Newt amended, “Well, you may be the outlier, I suppose.”

Another soft squeeze from Roscuro and Newt was laughing in earnest now, asking in an amused tone, “Oh, so you agree with me? That's a first.”

And then, all at once, Newt seemed to remember that their hands were entwined, and he shyly let go of him. “You... probably have to get to work.” He flushed, then added, “ _I_ have to get to work.”

For a masked, emotionless, voiceless man, Roscuro somehow seemed regretful. Newt tugged nervously at his own shirt, twisting it up first, then smoothing it out, before telling Roscuro, “I... I would like to see you again. Like this, I mean. Without Grindelwald breathing down your neck or... work getting in the way.”

Roscuro lowered his head, and Newt admitted, “I—I know it wouldn't be easy. But... You seem nice.” Clearing his throat, Newt asked, “N-not because you can't talk, or anything. I mean... unless you're only nice because you can't tell me to shut up... You... probably think I'm annoying.”

Roscuro went tense, and in his inability to speak, he expressed his blatant denial by stomping his foot on the floor, the noise startling Newt and echoing loudly down the hall. Roscuro reached out, grabbing Newt by the shoulder in a firm grip, but did nothing else. His other hand, hanging by his side, squeezed into a tight fist.

Newt held his breath, misreading his aggression, and breathlessly requested, “P-please don't hit me. I-I'm rather unused to it—I fear I might collapse.”

Irritated, Roscuro stomped his foot once more, although this time it was softer, less noisy. His grip on Newt's shoulder remained strong, but his other hand began to creep up, fingers brushing against Newt's jaw, an intimate sort of touch. Newt jolted, but he stared at Roscuro in silent surprise, unsure what he should be doing or interpreting this as.

And then, all at once, Roscuro was pulling away. He tapped a finger against the back of his wrist, indicating time, then pointed to himself, then the hall. Newt blinked, putting it together quickly in his head, and began to nod before whispering, “Okay... I... I'll see you around this time here some day. S-soon. Yeah?”

Roscuro nodded, then made a shooing gesture, and Newt went bright red when he realized how much time he took.

“Oh, bugger, Percival's going to wonder what happened to me!” He cursed, turning around and taking off, only pausing to call back, “B-bye!”

The month passed quickly. Newt enrolled in classes at Greylock, and received a handful of emails from the other universities, ensuring Newt knew that their offers were still on the table. Newt paid them no mind. He had his heart set on Greylock, if not for the sociology course, but for the distance to Percival's home. In order to remain near Percival for just a bit longer, though, he only enrolled in online classes. That meant he could finish the year at the high school, working as Percival's TA.

He wondered if he should tell Theseus that he had gotten a full ride. They hadn't spoken to each other since their argument. Theseus never tried to reach out to him, so Newt put the thought out of his mind. If Theseus wasn't interested in bridging the gap between them, then Newt wouldn't put in the effort either. As he waited for the spring semester to start, Newt focused on his work for Percival, focused on rekindling their recently rediscovered sexual relationship, and remained under the radar of the on-campus officers.

Well, all but one officer.

After making sure Roscuro had recovered fine from his seizures, he and Newt seemed to create a strange sort of friendship. They didn't intentionally seek each other out, but when Newt was given an excuse, he would purposefully go down the hall he knew Roscuro would be in. They crossed paths more often now, typically during classes or after school. Newt never knew if Roscuro was always looking at him, but he offered the officer a smile all the same. Sometimes Roscuro would nod his head. Sometimes he would lift a hand in a brief wave. Sometimes he didn't respond at all. Newt didn't let it get to him.

They were only ever together for an extended period of time when Newt ran off to the faculty restrooms during class, which hardly happened. Yet, whenever he was done, it seemed like Roscuro was there, just making his rounds down that very same hall. Newt smiled his way, Roscuro would nod, and then Newt would fall into step beside the officer, and Roscuro would end up walking him back to Percival's class. As they walked, Newt would prattle on about the first thing that came to mind. Whatever Percival was teaching that day, what Newt thought of the other officers at the school, what Newt was going to have for lunch. Once, while they walked together, Newt found himself talking about Greylock.

“They offered me a full ride, you know.” Newt found himself bragging, only to immediately follow up with, “I don't really know why—it's not like I applied for that sort of scholarship. As far as I know, my grades have been average, at best.” Newt huffed, looking at Roscuro, who was facing forward, like always, “But I'm really excited, anyways. I'm just doing a few online courses, and then I'm going to move down there for summer so that I can attend classes in the fall.”

Roscuro tilted his head towards Newt, and the redhead added sullenly, “It's going to be so lonely, though. I don't know anyone around Greylock U. I barely made any friends _here_ when I was in school.” Then, Newt looked at Roscuro, and he asked, “Did you go to school here?”

Roscuro turned to look at Newt completely, neither nodding nor shaking his head, and Newt grimaced before saying, “Oh yeah. You're supposed to be anonymous. I guess that wouldn't work so well if people knew where you went to school.” Roscuro faced forward again, and Newt let out a long, heavy sigh.

“I know you don't talk much, but... Why are you working as an officer?” Newt found himself asking, just as they were drawing close to the hallway Percival's class was. “Do you really believe the 10-241 is the best way to cull the five percent every year?”

At that, Roscuro stopped walking, so Newt stopped walking as well. They faced each other, Roscuro's expression hidden by the mask, but only silence stretched between them. Newt felt his heart skip at the tense air between them, wondering if maybe he had misspoken, if maybe he was stepping out of line. He knew officers were allowed to inflict corporal punishment on the students if necessary, but he didn't know if that meant the faculty was particularly out of their reach. Slowly becoming more afraid, Newt began to take a step back, then nearly jumped out of his skin when Roscuro snatched his wrist in his hand, holding him in place.

“I-I'm sorry—forget I said anything,” Newt begged, struggling briefly when Roscuro began to pull him close. The officer didn't stop until Newt was nearly pressed right up against his chest, and though Newt squirmed and tugged in his grip, his attempts at actually escaping weakened. Newt didn't realize what was happening until Roscuro was turning Newt around and pinning him bodily to the brick wall. Newt felt his breath catch, his eyes wide and his heart racing.

Keeping one hand on Newt's wrist, Roscuro brushed his fingers along Newt's jaw, the gesture intimate and familiar. Newt found himself turning his head towards the touch, eyes fluttering, although he kept them opened and trained at the tinted visor in front of him. When Roscuro's hand left his face, Newt didn't know what he was going to do, especially when he slotted a finger in between the visor and the mask covering the bottom half of his face.

With bated breath, Newt watched as Roscuro removed the mask from in front of his mouth, revealing a gorgeous, plush set of blood-red lips on ghostly-pale skin.

“Roscuro,” Newt tried to whisper, but he barely got a syllable out before Roscuro was dipping down and catching his mouth in a hot kiss. Newt responded immediately, free hand clutching the strap to the bullet-proof vest Roscuro wore, eyes sliding shut and lips parting almost as soon as Roscuro licked against them.

The taste of him was strangely addicting. A sort of familiar tinge to it that had Newt melting against Roscuro's lithe body, made bulky by the layers of armor he wore. His mind was in a haze, blood pumping fast in his body, and he didn't even fight it when Roscuro was moving both hands to the backs of Newt's thighs, expertly picking him up and tucking his legs around his waist. When Roscuro pressed Newt back against the wall, Newt broke away with a breathy moan, clinging to Roscuro's vest, even starting to grind himself against the hard material of his vest.

They startled apart when the bell rang. Newt nearly fell to the floor if he didn't catch himself against the wall. Roscuro replaced the mask over his mouth, breathing hard, and Newt ran his fingers through his hair while he cleared his throat.

Without another word from either of them, Roscuro continued down the hall, and Newt pushed through the slowly growing flood of students so he could step into Percival's classroom.

He sat behind his desk, face burning red, and he wondered just what he was thinking, returning that man's kiss as fervently as he had.

“Everything okay?” Percival was asking, and Newt looked up at him with a lost gaze. Would Percival understand if he told him? It was Percival, after all, who had initially started the polyamorous relationship between himself, Credence, and Newt. But the actions Credence and Percival took to start the relationship begun only after they discussed it, Newt recalled.

Clearing his throat, Newt instead said, “You left a bruise on my thigh. It's... still tender.”

Percival smirked, but he didn't say anything more about it, and Newt was allowed to wallow in his thoughts unbothered.

But Newt wasn't the only one coming in contact with Roscuro, it turned out. Percival himself found himself encountering the officer on more than one accidental occasion.

During most lunches, he and Newt would eat together in his classroom. For some, however, they would have been too lazy to make their lunches, and Percival would be tasked with getting them food from the cafeteria. On many of these runs, he would walk by the security office, and on many of these runs, he would see Roscuro stepping out of it, only to pause and watch as Percival made his way. Percival didn't cast him a second glance, uncaring of the officers around him, no matter who they were. Roscuro, unlike most officers, didn't seem to like being ignored.

He began to appear around Percival when the man went to the restroom, standing outside of the faculty bathroom door with arms crossed just as the man was stepping out. He was seen waiting at the front of the school for Percival and Newt to arrive, would wait to make sure Percival saw him, and then retreated into the school building. Sometimes, Percival even saw him in the cafeteria, arms crossed and head turned towards Percival. All the attention rubbed Percival the wrong way, especially since his attempts at ignoring the officer seemed to have no affect.

And what was worse was that Percival could see Roscuro looking at _Newt_ with just as much interest.

Percival tried not to let it bother him, but when Roscuro actually entered the faculty bathroom just as Percival was washing his hands, the man had had enough. Ignoring the fact that Percival didn't actually know that Roscuro could access the faculty bathroom at whim, he looked at Roscuro through the reflection of the mirror, jaw clenched tight, then said in a cold voice, “So the rat learned how to use a door.”

Roscuro froze on the spot, not saying a word. Percival turned the sink off, shook the excess water from his hands, then pulled the disposable hand-towels from the dispenser, wiping them dry. Looking at Roscuro and trying to decide what to do, he eventually said, “I've seen you watching me. Watching Newt. What do you want from us?”

Remaining in the same spot, Roscuro still did not respond. His silence only made Percival's anger flare, and he balled up the towels in his hand and threw them forcefully into the trash. In three quick strides, he was standing before Roscuro, mouth opening and sucking in a sharp breath, completely prepared to yell at the damned officer. However, just as he was about to be nose-to-nose with the man, Roscuro suddenly dropped, and the anger was punched out of Percival's chest.

Kneeling before him, Roscuro dipped his head down, the perfect display of submission. Percival felt his stomach twist at the sight. A flutter of heat crawled its way up Percival's spine, a flicker of recognition, and, as if it were muscle-memory, Percival reached down and grabbed a fist-full of Roscuro's black hair.

He jerked Roscuro's head back, tilting his head up, and he growled, “Who the fuck do you think you are? You're just a creep. A stalker.” He tugged harder at Roscuro's hair, making him gasp. “What is it, hmm? Some sort of fixation on Newt? Because if you hurt him, I swear, I will do everything in my power to make sure you regret it.”

At that, Roscuro huffed in amusement. Without a second thought, he was reaching up and removing the lower half of his mask, exposing his pale skin and sinful lips. Percival couldn't help himself, he felt arousal swell within him at the sight. He especially couldn't help the groan when, without a word uttered, Roscuro held his mouth open, tongue flat at the bottom of his mouth, wet with saliva and tempting.

But Percival was not a man to cheat, and he wasn't going to start, even if this arousing creature was kneeling before him, basically begging Percival to sink into his mouth and fuck his face thoroughly. No, he was not going to hurt Newt in such a horrible way.

Instead, maybe he would turn this into something more.

Grabbing Roscuro by his jaw, Percival questioned in a low voice, “Do you really think I'm so desperate that I'd just let anyone suck me?”

Roscuro slowly closed his mouth, but Percival forced him to open it again by pressing his thumb past his teeth and tugging at his jaw. Roscuro gasped again, but made no further noise, and only sealed his lips around Percival's thumb, giving him a tantalizing example of exactly what he would get if he did give in. But Percival wasn't planning to. Not yet.

“Depraved,” He told the officer, and the word seemed to make him tremble, “I'm no fool... but I wonder if you're even trying to do harm. In fact...” A small smirk spread on Percival's lips, and he said, “Come by my classroom if you're truly interested today after school.”

Roscuro slid his head back, removing himself from Percival's thumb. Percival let go of his hair, wiped his wet thumb against Roscuro's cheek, then stepped away from him completely. He could feel Roscuro watching him as he exited the restroom, but he didn't look back, nor did he say a word.

He made it back to his classroom, Newt checking emails on his IGlass, completely unaware. Percival settled in his seat, sighing, and he rapped his fingers against his desk.

“Newton,” He spoke up, but the redhead didn't even look up from his IGlass. He only hummed, half paying attention. “I think we should bring a little more excitement in our lives.”

“Mhm.” Newt hummed, scrolling on his IGlass, reading still. Percival looked at Newt, still tapping his fingers, wondering just how he should bring it up. With Credence, it was easy. With Newt, he wasn't sure how the boy would react.

Well, if being straightforward worked once, then it was likely it would work again.

“I've noticed someone grow interested in the both of us. So I propositioned him.” Percival stated. Newt didn't even deem him with a hum. He blinked, eyes roaming the screen. Percival felt his impatience grow. “He's coming today, after school.” Still, no response. “It's Roscuro.”

Newt dropped the IGlass on his lap, head twisting up with wide eyes. Percival smirked. “Got your attention, do I?” He teased, and Newt opened his mouth to respond, although barely a word came out.

It took him a few tries, and then Newt was asking, “You asked _Roscuro_? I-I thought you said to stay away from him?”

“I did,” Percival agreed, leaning back in his chair, “But like I said, he seemed to have gained an interest in us.”

Now nervous, Newt stuttered out, “Wh-what gave you that idea?”

“He's been following us around the school,” Percival answered calmly, watching Newt visibly relax at the answer. It was suspicious, and Percival narrowed his eyes, “Why? Is there something you aren't telling me?”

Newt tensed again, and he said in a rush, “No. Nothing. I'm just surprised, that's all.”

“Oh?” Percival lifted a brow, looking Newt up and down, before asking, “You haven't had any run-ins with Roscuro yourself, have you?”

Immediately, Newt shook his head and said, “No, I haven't.”

Percival continued to leer at Newt, knowing that the boy was lying, wondering exactly what he was lying _about_ , then figured he wouldn't get it out of him unless he admitting something himself.

Turning his gaze to his hands, Percival hummed, then muttered under his breath, “Interesting.”

Newt caught the word immediately, frowning at Percival, then asked, “What's interesting?”

“Oh, nothing,” Percival hummed, looking up at the ceiling, “I just thought since Roscuro approached me, that he would have done the same with you.”

“Approached you?” Newt asked, surprised, “How—How do you mean?”

“Hmm?” Percival looked Newt's way, “Well, it's obvious, isn't it?” When Newt shook his head, Percival smiled, then said, “He approached me to have sex.”

Newt's jaw practically fell. Percival didn't wait for him to ask before saying, “I didn't, of course. But I may have implied that if he showed up today, he would be getting exactly what he asked for.” But then, Percival put on a frown, and added, “But I thought he was interested in you as well... If he was, he would have approached you already. I guess I was wrong. I can always call it off, anyways--”

“No!” Newt gasped, looking, to Percival's surprise, thrilled, “H-he kissed me before, I-I didn't ask him to, of course, but he just—it just happened. He's—He's interested.”

Percival smirked, finally getting what he wanted, and he told Newt, “You know you can tell me anything, don't you Newt?”

Immediately, the boy flushed. He turned his head down before admitting, “I thought you'd be upset. It wasn't too long ago, too... I didn't want you to think...”

“Shh....” Percival prompted, and Newt peeked up at him from under his lashes, “I understand. Honestly, I may have been upset had you told me before today.” He leaned forward in his seat, regarding Newt, and asked him, “Do you want Roscuro to join us?”

Newt bit his lip, considering the question for what it really was. This wasn't just going to be an invitation for one little fling. This was going to be a third person stepping into their relationship. Stepping into the spot Credence left behind. He wanted to move on, he truly did... but he was afraid that this meant he was trying to replace Credence.

He admitted such to Percival by saying, “It... feels too much like Credence, still.”

To which Percival responded with a melancholic, “It's always going to feel like him. But we can't let that keep us from living our lives, Newt. It isn't wrong to fall in love again.”

Newt sighed, but he trusted Percival. It hurt still, losing Credence, but it was always going to hurt in some way. Roscuro was flirting with them _now_ , he was an option _now_ , and Newt needed to stop living in the past.

Closing his eyes, Newt said quietly, “Okay. Let's try it.”

Percival smiled kindly, then reassured Newt, “Whatever happens, whatever we decide to do, you know I love you.”

Newt smiled, comforted, and said, “I love you too, Percival.”

The rest of the day was tense. Newt fidgeted impatiently in his seat as Percival paced the room and gave his lectures. The students took their notes and paid Newt no mind, leaving Newt to glance at the time. He tried to distract himself with his IGlass, tried to focus on the lectures to the point of taking his own notes, but his eyes wandered back to the clock relentlessly, and his foot began to tap.

By the start of the last period, Percival approached Newt and said to him, “Go take a little walk, get some of that nervous energy out of you.”

“You sure?” Newt asked, although he was already getting up. Percival nodded, smiling, then said, “Just make sure you're back in time, alright?”

Nodding, Newt left the classroom just as it was filling up, heading outside of the building to catch a breath of fresh air. He stayed close to the building, though away from the patrolling officers and their ever-vigilant cameras. He paced back and forth between two of the buildings, trying to calm himself, trying to reassure himself that he shouldn't feel guilty for moving on, that he should be excited for a new potential partner.

“God, Credence, just... Just give me a sign that you're okay with this,” He whispered, hiding his face in his hands with his back pressed against the wall of one of the buildings, “Please, just anything to tell me this is fine with you...” Dropping his hands from his face, he crossed his arms and looked to the sky, as if maybe Credence would descend from Heaven right then and there, but the clouds didn't part and angels didn't appear to him. Overwhelmed with guilt and confusion, Newt dropped his head again, then muttered, “I miss you so much...”

Trying to repress the tears in his eyes, Newt didn't notice someone was approaching until they were nearly upon them. Newt looked up briefly, then jerked his head up entirely when he saw a familiar figure, hands tucked into a dark coat and a wide-brim hat atop pale yellow hair. This person approached him quickly when they realized Newt had noticed them, and Newt stepped away from the building wall.

“Hello?” He called out to them, but the person only picked up their pace, until they were right in front of Newt and grabbing at his shirt.

Newt stumbled backward, yelping when he was shoved further down the alleyway between the two school buildings, and when they were well out of sight of the officers and the cameras, the person lifted their head, allowing Newt to see their familiar pale face and emotional blue eyes glittering up at him. Her hair was braided back from her face tightly, tucked under the hat, and before Newt could ask her who she was, the girl was saying, “Listen to me, please. You don't need to believe a word I say, but I must ask you merely listen.”

Newt held his breath and his tongue, staring down at this girl, confused, but curious. The girl took his silence as acquiescence, and said in a quiet, trembling voice, “My name is Chastity Barebone, I-I'm the younger sister of Credence Barebone, adopted daughter of Mary Lou Barebone.” Another shaking breath, and she continued to say in a grave tone, “And my mother and I are being haunted.”

Newt felt as if his mind shut off and turned back on, that was how ridiculous the claim seemed to him. “Excuse me?” He blurted, staring wide-eyed at this frantic girl, thinking that she was crazy already.

“Shh!” She hissed, looking left, then right, making sure they had garnered no attention. Breathing quickly, Chastity looked back at Newt and explained, “Ever since the school year started, my mother has been getting calls from anonymous numbers. Unknown numbers. Untraceable. No matter what number it is, it's the same voice. It—It's Credence's voice.”

Shaking her head, Chastity continued, “They come in the middle of the night, always, _always_ Credence's voice. Every time Ma answers, she breaks down in tears, sir! She's started to refuse to answer her phone! So—so I've started to answer the calls. There's no mistake, sir. It's Credence. It _has_ to be Credence. No one, _no one_ sounds the same as him!”

“Alright...” Newt said slowly, put off by her hysterics, “Why are you telling me this?”

“He told me to, sir.” She explained, looking desperate, “He says he won't stop haunting us until I tell you—tell you what he told me. Told me to tell you 'the truth.'”

Newt grimaced, not really sure if he wanted to hear this girl out. He looked around them, wondering what would be the best way to get away, but then Chastity was talking again, and her words froze Newt in place.

“He told me to tell you that he isn't gone. He told me to tell you that—that he's with you. Every day. He's with you.” Chastity sucked in a shaking breath, then said, “He told me to tell you that there's something coming, and he wants to protect you, which is why you should go to Greylock before the end of the school year.”

“I-I... What?” Newt huffed, looking at this girl like she was insane, “How do you know I'm going to Greylock?”

“Because, sir, Credence told me!” She claimed, and Newt scoffed at her before he stepped away.

“You're delusional,” He told her, cruel but he couldn't bear hearing these words, “Please, leave me alone.”

“No, you have to listen!” Chastity gasped, grabbing at Newt's clothes as the man began to walk away, but Newt simply tore out of her grip, “Please! He won't leave us alone if you don't listen!”

“What else have you to say?” Newt suddenly burst, glaring the girl down, watching as her eyes glistened and her bottom lip quivered, “Credence is dead, and you're running around, trying to dig up old memories! You're... You're mad.”

Turning away from her, Newt marched on, leaving the girl behind in his dust, but carrying her words with him in his mind. He didn't stop walking, not until he was back in Percival's classroom, taking his seat without disturbing the lecture. He was no longer impatiently anticipating the end of the class. Now he had one too many things knocking around in his head.

Newt was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he all but jumped in his seat when the final bell rang.

“Don't forget about the essay due tomorrow. I can tell when you guys procrastinate!” Percival called out after his retreating students, looking just as exhausted as they did from a full day of teaching.

Percival wandered to Newt’s desk in the corner, leaning his hip against it and crossing his arms, and he asked, “Excited?”

“Nervous,” Newt admitted shyly, sitting up a little bit straighter. “What if--what if he doesn't like me?”

“Oh, Newton,” Percival tutted, stroking Newt’s cheek, then lifting his head up with a finger under his chin, “It’s hard not to like you.”

The door opened again before they realized it, and when they turned towards the entrance, they saw Roscuro standing there, mask still adorned and nightstick hanging off his belt. He hadn't taken off a single bit of armor. Perhaps he never did when he was on campus. Or perhaps he had come to them as quickly as he could.

Percival smirked regardless. “There you are,” he said impatiently, even though they hadn't been waiting long. “Well? Are you going to lock the door?”

Roscuro took a long breath, as if centering or calming himself, then slowly twisted the deadbolt, locking the door shut. Silence reigned as Roscuro made his way to the front of the classroom, boots thud-thud-thudding with each heavy step. He walked with a sort of grace, alluring, enticing, and when he was at the front, just a few meters away, he stopped. His hands clenched and unclenched. He was nervous, too.

Newt stood from his seat, putting a hand on the table, and said in a gentle voice, “It’s okay if you want to change your mind. We don't have to do anything, you know.”

Percival glanced at Newt, catching on to what he was doing, then added, “We won't judge you, no matter what you decide to do.”

Newt bobbed his head, crossing his arms self-consciously over his chest as he stepped up to Percival’s side. “Do--Do you just want to watch? Maybe… Maybe it will help to ease you into the idea?”

Roscuro squeezed his hands into fists, then slowly, oh-so-slowly, shook his head no. Newt took a breath, somehow comforted by the gesture, relieved that Roscuro was communicating with them one way or another, then said, “Alright. Do you still want to do this?”

Immediately, without a moment’s hesitation, Roscuro was nodding. Newt smiled and he leaned against Percival’s side. Percival wrapped an arm around Newt’s waist, keeping him close, then asked, “How do you want to do this?”

At that, Roscuro hesitated. It wasn't a yes or no question, Newt realized. Speaking up before things could become tense, Newt instead asked, “Do you want to be in the middle? Percy in you, you in me?”

Percival glanced at Newt again, but Newt kept his eyes on Roscuro, who seemed to consider the question. He took a step closer to them, his knees trembling for a moment, and then he removed the bottom half of his mask, exposing his lips that both Newt and Percival ached for.

Still silent, Roscuro first pointed at Newt, and the redhead went rigid. Following Newt, Roscuro pointed at his own mouth. Then, he pointed at Percival, then to own his chest. Newt blinked, confused, but Percival interpreted, “You want to blow Newt while I fuck you.”

Roscuro nodded, and Newt felt his stomach flutter. “Oh,” he breathed, feeling light-headed, “I… I can do that.”

Roscuro smiled, and it looked so strange, seeing emotion on a previously emotionless face. Roscuro glanced at Percival’s desk, then slowly made his way to it, putting his hand on the wood, stroking the grain almost reverently.

Newt bit his bottom lip, a sort of disdain bubbling in his gut. He didn't want them to do this anywhere near Percival’s desk--it made him think too much of Credence.

When Roscuro set his other hand on Percival’s desk, Newt suddenly blurted, “Wh-Why don't we, um… do it over here?” Newt suggested, gesturing to his own, much smaller desk, and Roscuro’s head snapped up so quick, lips pressed in a hard line. Newt felt his nerves jump, especially when Roscuro clung to Percival’s desk as if he was about to refuse.

Newt licked his lips anxiously, dropping his gaze when it became too much, and was about to change his mind when Percival took his side, explaining, “Newt is quite sentimental. He doesn't want to mix up old memories with new ones.”

At that, Roscuro seemed to relax, and he stood up straight, removing his hands from Percival’s desk. Newt fidgeted anxiously, muttering out a shy, “I-I'm sorry…” but Roscuro merely shook his head. He approached the two of them carefully, looking between Percival and Newt then Percival once more. When Percival nodded his head towards Newt, Roscuro took the gesture for what it was, and he took Newt’s down-turned face in his hands. Tilting it up, Roscuro placed a firm kiss on his lips, sliding his tongue in until Newt was trembling with desire instead of worry.

When Newt was more relaxed, Roscuro broke away from the kiss with a soft, wet smack, and he smiled at Newt, who nervously smiled back.

“Beautiful,” Percival sighed, his eyes already hazy, as if he were in seventh heaven just from watching them. Taking control once more, Percival then ordered, “Newt, go sit in your chair. Roscuro will be on his knees in front of you. I'll be behind him.”

“Okay,” Newt said, breath shaky, and he quickly obeyed. As soon as he sat down, he was undoing his pants and tugging them down his thighs, letting them hang around his knees so he could stretch his legs out. He kept his boxers on, however. He was too embarrassed and shy with their new partner to bare himself like that.

Roscuro approached Newt with a smirk, putting his hands on the armrests of Newt’s chair, then slowly, sensuously dropping down to his knees, giving Newt a soft kiss when their heads were level. As soon as he was on the floor, his hands were trailing up Newt’s thighs, leather black gloves warmed from his hands, feeling rough and inhuman as they danced along his skin. Newt was trembling already when Roscuro curled his fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers, and with a gasp, Newt was exposed, cock already at half-mast from the thrill of it.

“God…” Newt breathed, covering his face with his hands, but Roscuro didn't seem to be one affected all too much by simple things like nerves. He wasted no time, in fact, to engulf Newt’s length in his mouth, exhaling through his nose as he sank further and further down. Newt trembled and whimpered, peeking through his fingers just as the last of him vanished down Roscuro’s throat, and when the man offered a cocky smirk, Newt’s dick twitched against his tongue.

“B-Bugger…” Newt gasped, heart racing as Roscuro slowly pulled back up, exposing inch by wet inch of Newt’s flesh until his lips were pursed around the head. Newt’s hands fell from his face so he could stare, wide-eyed and mouth agape, while Roscuro merely dipped back down with another exhale, sucking him all the down to the tight clench of his throat.

Creeping into his vision came Percival’s hand on Roscuro’s head, grasping the black locks there and yanking him back. Roscuro popped off of Newt with a huff, a thick line of spittle connecting them for only a moment longer before it snapped. Percival leaned in, lips pressed to Roscuro's ear, and he growled out, “I see you've done this sort of thing before.”

Roscuro only let out a shuddering breath, mouth still hanging open, drool beginning to drip down his chin. Percival tightened his grip in Roscuro's hair, making the man smirk and gasp, and Percival began to tug at Roscuro's clothes, undoing his belt and yanking down his pants just enough to get what he needed.

“There we are,” Percival hummed, looking excited, “Now. I want you to put your mouth on Newt's dick and keep it there until he comes. If you pull off, I'll punish you. Do you understand me?” Percival waited for Roscuro to give an initial nod, then he tightened his grip so that Roscuro couldn't move, and he forced his head down, bringing him down on Newt's cock once more. Roscuro went down eagerly, a hand coming up to clutch at Newt's leg. When he was so far down his nose was buried in Newt's pubic hair, Percival let go of his hair and tugged open one of Newt's drawers, finding a small bottle of lubricant tucked inside.

He poured some into his hand, meeting Newt's eye as he dipped his hand behind Roscuro, and he waited for Newt to give him a slight nod before he sunk his fingers in. Immediately, Roscuro's mouth went slack around Newt's cock, and Newt chewed on his bottom lip and gave a tentative twitch of his hips, nudging himself against Roscuro's chin. The officer sealed his mouth tightly around Newt again, sucking him with a vengeance, and Newt's hips jerked again. Percival, still working his fingers in Roscuro's ass, prompted Newt, “Put your back into it. Fuck him.”

“Sh-shouldn't I wait for you?” Newt asked, placing a nervous hand on the back of Roscuro's head, sighing when Roscuro twisted his head to the side, his tongue peeking out to graze his balls. “I—I don't want him to ch-choke...”

Percival hummed, pressing his fingers in nice and deep, and said softly, “I think Roscuro is rather interested in choking on your cock.”

As if to agree, Roscuro swallowed, his throat clamping down on Newt's length with an excruciating strength. Newt's body jolted, his knees jumping up and his hand clutching tight at Roscuro's hair. “O-Okay, okay,” He moaned, and Roscuro slowly pulled back, keeping only the top of Newt in his mouth. He suckled sweetly at the flesh, tongue playing along the head, and Newt slumped back in his chair, head tilting back and thighs trembling.

“I want to see those hips moving, Newton,” Percival commanded, and Newt sobbed weakly before he began to lift his hips off the chair, sliding down his seat until his bottom hung off the edge. Roscuro let his mouth hang open, and soon Newt was thrusting into him, his hand keeping Roscuro's head steady as he did so. Percival chuckled, adding a third finger to stretch Roscuro wide, but soon he grew impatient and was pulling away from him, slicking up his cock so that he could join in on the fun.

“Let's see how long you can last,” Percival hummed, squeezing Roscuro's ass, enjoying the give of his muscle, then began to push into him. Roscuro's breath shuddered, his back arching delectably, letting Percival sink further and further into him with barely a moment of resistance. Cursing under his breath, Percival immediately began to thrust, keeping one hand on Roscuro's hip and bringing the other one up, grabbing him by the strap of his bullet-proof vest.

Newt, breathing heavily, forced his eyes open and his head to roll forward, immediately meeting Percival's eye over Roscuro's back. With a little bit of struggle, Newt began to match Percival's languid thrusts until they were in sync. When Percival picked up speed, Newt did as well. When Roscuro gulped around Newt's flesh and made him jackrabbit into his throat, Percival would ram Roscuro's ass hard enough to jolt the officer.

Roscuro began to move his own head and hips, urging Percival to fuck him faster, all the while slurping and swallowing down Newt's length until he was choking himself, squeezing out whimpers and moans from the young man beneath him. He worked with a desperate edge, not wanting Percival to relent. He peered up at Newt from under the visor, noticing the redhead barely paying him any mind, and he struggled to regain his attention.

He choked purposefully, gagging and coughing around him. His collar beeped in warning, but Roscuro didn't give up. He pulled up as far as he dared, drool spilling from his mouth, dripping hot down Newt's cock. He sucked tight around the head, tonguing along the slit, then sank back down when Newt was looking down at him again, high-pitched, staccato whimpers tearing from the redhead's throat.

Newt's gaze was glazed over, his mind fuzzy and his thoughts all over the place. His body was thrumming with pleasure, Roscuro's mouth hot and wet and so _good_. Newt was stroking Roscuro's hair, his orgasm already budding inside of him, and without really realizing it, Newt began a gentle mantra of, “So good, Percy, so good...”

He could hear Percival chuckle through his haze, could feel that wet heat clamp down on him again, felt the slap of Percival's hips into the body sucking him off in echoes along his own length. Newt's eyes slid shut against his will, focused solely on the pleasure, on the sensations, on the way Percival groaned and panted and Roscuro's quiet, nasally breaths.

Tangling his fingers in Roscuro's hair, Newt drew closer and closer to the edge, hips jerking up erratically, mind spinning, pleasure bursting like sparks under his skin, and when it all came to a head, when he spilled into Roscuro's mouth, he cried out in a simpering voice, “ _Yes_! C-Credence, G-God--!”

His body slumped, Roscuro pulled off of his flesh, and everything seemed to stop for a long moment. Newt, still floating amongst the afterwaves of pleasure, was spurred to open his eyes when a hand clutched his arm and shook him. Blinking quickly, Newt peered down to see who was rousing him, but found the world around him blurry. He felt his chest shudder, felt a warm wetness rolling down his cheeks, and when he finally gave a sob, he realized he was crying.

“Baby,” Percival was suddenly saying in his ear, and Newt quickly rubbed the tears away, but more and more kept coming. Hiccuping again, Newt curled over himself, settling his elbows on his knees to cover himself. With another pained sob, Percival started to rub his back, and Newt felt overwhelmed with guilt.

“I'm sorry,” He told them, realizing he must have ruined the mood, that Roscuro nor Percival reached completion, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

“Shh-hh.” Percival soothed, still rubbing his back. Newt then felt a hand clutch at his calf, and he knew Roscuro was trying to comfort him as well. “It's okay, Newt. It's nothing to apologize for.”

“I—I ruined it. I ruined everything,” Newt sobbed, shoulders shaking, voice growing phlegmy the more he cried. Roscuro's hand tightened on his calf and Percival brought his hand to the back of Newt's neck, giving it a firm but comforting squeeze.

“I pushed too quickly,” Percival whispered, sounding forlorn, and it only made Newt feel worse, “It was too much, too fast.”

Roscuro let out a short sigh, tucking his cheek against Newt's knee, and he stroked his thumb against Newt's calf. The hard press of his visor paired with the gentle touch of his gloved hand was strange, but paired with Percival's strong hand and gentle voice helped Newt settle down just enough that he wasn't sobbing grossly.

When his sobs weaned to mere whimpers, Percival resumed to stroke his back, then reassured him, “Everything's okay, Newt. Emotions run pretty high in these sorts of situations.”

Newt let out a long breath, sitting upright again and immediately tugging up his boxers. He wasn't entirely worried about his pants, more worried about covering himself so he didn't have to wallow in more shame than he already felt. “I feel so foolish,” He admitted, face burning red and eyes feeling puffy, a few more stray tears beading at the corners. He moved to wipe them away, but Roscuro reacted first, bringing a gloved hand to Newt's face to wipe them away himself. Newt looked up at him, finding his stretch-swollen lips turned down in a sympathetic frown, made uneven with the stripes of come clinging to his skin. Newt felt even more ashamed and tucked his arms tight around his stomach, averting his gaze.

“Newt,” Percival tutted, stroking his hair now, massaging his scalp, and Newt's eyes slid shut in bliss at the gentle touches. Roscuro noticed his expression and began to massage the muscles in his thighs, too. “What we told Roscuro still applies for you, too. Any time you change your mind, you just tell us—tell _me_ , and I'll take care of the rest.”

Sighing once more, Newt tilted his head into Percival's hands, letting his legs go lax under Roscuro's attention. “I don't want it to end,” He admitted, peeking up at Percival, “It just... everything felt so much like Credence...”

Roscuro's grip on Newt's thighs suddenly tightened, making the redhead flinch suddenly and hiss in pain. Roscuro quickly let go, lips parting as if to apologize, but no words came. Percival's fingers stilled in Newt's hair, but Newt relaxed again despite this, and merely muttered, “You've a really strong grip on you.”

Roscuro ducked his head, obviously apologetic, and Newt offered a meek smile, reaching a hand out to stroke Roscuro's cheek. “Hey, it's alright. I know I shouldn't talk about stuff like that here. Sorry.”

“Hush. We can talk more about it at home,” Percival said, resuming his massage. Newt gave a soft moan, tilting his head back once more. “Why don't you take a moment. Give me and Roscuro a second alone.”

Newt smiled a little, saying in a light voice, “Going to finish what I messed up?”

“Stop it.” Percival huffed, tugging Newt's chin up with a hand so he could kiss him on the mouth. “I just want to speak to him in private.”

Newt hummed, smiling genuinely now, then said, “Alright. But if things get interesting, at least be somewhere I can see.”

At that, Percival chuckled and he pulled away, promising, “We won't leave the room.” Looking at Roscuro, Percival said, “Give Newt a goodbye kiss then come along,” before he stepped away, readjusting his clothes as he walked towards the other end of the room, taking his time to get there. Roscuro lifted himself to his knees, cradling Newt's cheeks and giving him a long, sweet kiss, one that made Newt's stomach flutter.

When Roscuro did pull away, Newt found himself looking into the visor, seeing just the faintest outline of eyes staring back at him. His heart skipped, though he didn't understand why, and Roscuro offered him a soft smile before, with more exaggerated movements, mouthed to Newt, 'It's okay,' or so Newt figured. Smiling in return, Newt nodded his head and whispered, “Thank you. I'm sorry, again.”

Roscuro scrunched his nose, then tapped a finger against Newt's lips almost in admonishment, before he got to his feet, fixed his pants, then walked away from Newt to follow Percival to the other end of the room.

Newt slumped in his chair, wiping away any lingering tears and trying to banish the last few tendrils of embarrassment. He watched Percival and Roscuro, seeing Roscuro place the mask over his face again, and watching Percival's mouth move smoothly as he spoke in a low voice. Newt gave a sigh, then reached for his IGlass, deciding to check his emails while he waited for them.

Greylock was reaching out to him again. Strange, Newt thought. He had done his registration and chatted with the counselor. He even took the one-week introductory course which was, in Newt's opinion, completely unnecessary. He tapped the email open and began to read, only getting as far as 'Greylock desires to invest in a type of insurance for our latest acquisition,' when he heard the door open and saw Roscuro leaving, Newt frowned and sat up, but soon Percival was standing in front of him, looking down at him with an amused smile.

“Airing out?” He asked, eyeing Newt's still lowered trousers, and Newt gave Percival a miffed look before he tugged them up around his hips, zipping them shut. “Ready to go home?”

“Yeah,” Newt said, getting up from the chair and tucking the IGlass into his pocket, “What did you talk to Roscuro about?”

“I just wanted to reassure him that he hadn't done anything wrong.” Percival explained, taking Newt's hand in an odd show of affection, “He _didn't_ do anything wrong, did he?”

“No. I guess I just got overwhelmed. It was a lot like... _all_ of our first time together,” Newt squeezed Percival's hand, following him out of the classroom and eventually out of the building itself. Percival kept their hands intertwined as they made their way to the parking garage.

“I'm sorry,” Percival offered, but Newt smiled up at him, comforted by his worry.

“Don't be,” Newt said to him, stopping them before they got in the car so he could give him a kiss on the mouth, “I'm... I'm glad you did this for us.”

 


	6. Creatures of the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a whore for adding as many characters as I can even if it doesn't make sense. Sue me.

They weren't the only ones leaving, however. At the other end of the school, Grindelwald and the other officers were piling into the back of an M939 military truck, the bed long and wide enough to accommodate the twelve officers, with an additional two in the cab. Grindelwald was the last to board, standing in front of Credence as he tugged the shock collar off of him.

“Remember,” Grindelwald spoke, voice low and daring, “You are to stay awake and alert all night. Nod off, and I will know. I'll be watching.” As soon as the collar was off, Grindelwald tucked it into his pocket, then re-buttoned the collar of Credence's turtleneck. “We will be back at four. Meet us here.”

Credence swallowed, his throat no longer feeling restricted by the shock collar pressed firmly against his trachea, and said in a hoarse, rarely used voice, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” Grindelwald smirked, patting Credence's cheek through his mask, then turning to get onto the truck. As soon as he was seated, the engine roared to life, and right before they pulled away, Grindelwald reiterated, “I'll be watching.”

Credence blinked, watching the truck drive away. He waited there until they left the campus, then finally turned and walked back into the building. Every night, the campus had to be monitored, both via cameras and by at least one officer physically present. The only time no officers were present was during summer and holiday breaks. But tonight, there was no holiday, and Credence had been selected to stay.

It wasn't the first time he would be the overnight guard, and it wasn't going to be the last. They switched out every night, making sure everyone got a turn at being 'it.' They had enough people that each officer only ever had to do an overnight patrol once every two weeks.

And whenever Credence worked the overnight patrol, he would have a little fun. It was the only time outside of being in the barracks that he didn't have to wear the shock collar. It was the only time he could use his voice. And use it he did.

Since he knew the car ride to the barracks took twenty minutes, Credence quickly made his way to the administrative office. He knew Grindelwald could easily rewind the footage and catch him, but he hadn't thus far, so Credence figured that, so long as he was no longer in the administrative office by the time Grindelwald got to the barracks, he would be fine. He grabbed the first phone he saw and dialed the only number he could remember. It was a shame, but he had never asked for Percival's number, nor for Newt's. The only number he remembered was Mary Lou's.

Calling her like every other time he had night patrol, he only waited for three rings before the phone was answered.

“Hello?” Came Chastity's quivering voice, and Credence closed his eyes, always feeling a sort of guilt when she answered. He didn't mean to scare her so much. He didn't mean to make her think he was angry at them and haunting them, but it was all he had, the only link he had to who he called his family. Even if Mary Lou didn't love him, even if she loved Chastity more, Credence still missed them.

“Chastity,” He spoke, and her voice quivered with a breath, terrified. And then, because even though he missed them, he still felt spiteful, he said to her, “It's so dark where I am. Please tell Newt--”

“I told him,” She cut him off, trying to sound strong, although her voice broke still, “I told him, Credence, but he didn't listen. He said I was crazy, didn't want to believe me, but I told him. I swear I did. Please, believe me. Please, just... just _move on_.”

Credence fell silent, considering her words. So she had gotten to Newt finally. He had been watching her progress. She nearly got to him when he went to the faculty restroom, however many weeks ago. He felt a little regretful that he didn't see the encounter. He was silent for so long that Chastity let out a breath, then asked, “C-Credence?”

Deciding his fun was not yet over, Credence said, “Please tell Percival.”

“God, no, please,” Chastity whimpered, but Credence ignored her.

“Tell Percival the truth,” Credence bid her, “Tell him I'm still here. That I'm with him. Tell him...” Credence took a breath, a thought in his mind, and before he could really consider the consequences, Credence said, “Tell him to take care of Newt for me. To... To take care of Roscuro, too.”

“R-Roscuro?” Chastity sniffled, voice wet with tears, “Who—the _school_ _officer_?”

Credence quickly hung up. He said too much, and at the same time, he hadn't said enough. He quickly left the administration office, wondering what Percival might do once he got the message.

He walked the halls of the school, humming to himself as he went. It felt good to use his voice after such an exciting day. Only half of his mind paid attention to his surroundings. The other half replayed what he, Percival, and Newt had done only a few hours before. A smile tugged at his lips, hidden by his mask, and he continued to hum pleasantly.

He hoped this wouldn't be the only time he was invited into their arms. He hoped that Newt wouldn't be put off by the overwhelming emotion that he had experienced. Credence felt bad—he shouldn't have suggested recreating their first time together. He just wanted to feel them again...

Giving a soft sigh, Credence wondered what Newt would do if he tried to kiss him again. What Percival might do if he cornered him in the restrooms again. He couldn't help but consider the worst, that they would end up rejecting him, but he tried to stay positive. Percival had obviously not liked him, not until he had put himself into a submissive position. Newt had warmed up to him relatively quickly after he had been electrocuted for talking, but Credence thinks it may have been more out of pity than interest. Still, Credence couldn't help himself when Newt started talking ill about the 10-241. His stubbornly passionate personality only reminded Credence of what he loved most about Newt.

Credence wished he could just tell them. Tell them that he was there, he was still alive, he was _right under their noses,_ but he couldn't. Grindelwald had been generous with his threats against them, and dangling Credence right in front of their faces wasn't just a show of power, but a blatant dare for Credence to make a move, to try and expose himself to them. If Grindelwald thought that either Percival or Newt had an inkling of who he was, he had promised to make them disappear. It was vague, but Credence didn't doubt him. Grindelwald simply held too much influence.

Credence paused when he stepped on a crumpled sheet of paper. Frowning, he bent at the waist and plucked it from the ground, unraveling it so he could take a peek, and immediately he sighed. In many schools across the country, protests had been taking place against the 10-241. In anticipation for a similar protest to begin here, Grindelwald began to print and hand out pro-Thinning propaganda. Credence remembered this particular design as Queenie's, the woman from the Underground who had all the data available at her fingertips.

Credence tilted his head as he examined the flyer, noticing the arrangement of red lettering, turning the phrase, “ **AMERICA, DEMAND** RESPECT. **CHANGE** THE WORLD. **WE RISE** FROM THE GIANT'S SHOULDER. **TOGETHER** , WE STAND TO THE **END**. TRUST **THE THINNING** ” to a much less appropriate “ **AMERICA. DEMAND CHANGE. WE** RISE **TOGETHER. END THE THINNING.** ”

Smiling to himself, Credence neatly folded the flyer up and tucked it into his bullet-proof vest. It wasn't the first piece of propaganda Queenie had made, and it definitely wasn't the first one she had slipped hidden messages into. Credence had kept a copy of each one. He also knew that her propaganda was most popular amongst the students. Surely he wasn't the only one to notice the words.

Continuing his march down the hall, Credence kept to his duties, making sure the school was secure, that no students were present, and that, most importantly, Grindelwald thought he was still under his thumb.

Chastity didn't get Credence's message to Percival until the end of the week. Since their coupling, Percival and Newt seemed far too busy to give Rosucro the time of day, but Roscuro didn't mind. He needed to make sure Grindelwald didn't grow suspicious, which meant he had to spend more time at his side. He didn't think much of the message he had given to Chastity, not until, on one of his solo patrols, he was suddenly approached by Percival, who seemed to have timed his restroom break perfectly to step into the hall right beside Roscuro. The masked man didn't flinch. There were cameras in the halls. Credence didn't want to tip anyone off.

Still drying his hands off on a paper towel, Percival kept his head down and said under his breath, “Roscuro.”

Roscuro tilted his head, the shock collar back in place as was his silence.

“I had a visitor, early this morning,” He said nonchalantly, peeking up at the officer. Roscuro met his gaze unerringly, although his heart began to race. He held his breath, not sure what Percival might say, not sure what conclusion he might have come to, but hoping, _hoping_ that he was going to guess right.

But apparently, Percival didn't believe that Credence could still be alive. The next words he said were simply, “I think, if you're amenable, you, Newt, and I can consider having something more concrete.”

Roscuro sighed. It wasn't going to happen. Grindelwald would grow jealous if he spent too much time around them. Besides, it's not like he would be allowed off the campus. He would forever be trapped here, forever be a mere loner in the school. He wouldn't be able to celebrate holidays or birthdays or anniversaries with them. Surely they had to have realized that already, what with his anonymity and all?

“I understand you're probably married first to your work,” Percival said softly, brows furrowed, “But Newt and I... we are rather interested in you. We would definitely like a repeat of what happened earlier this week. If you're amenable.”

Ah. That he could do. Roscuro looked at Percival again, then nodded. Percival offered him a smile before he tossed the paper towel away.

“Good.” He told him, pleased, “Thanksgiving break is the week after next. We'd like to have you sometime before then.”

Again, Roscuro nodded. Percival gave the man a smirk, and with the grace of a cat, he stroked a finger fondly against what would be Roscuro's cheek, if he didn't wear the mask. Roscuro tilted his head towards the touch, wishing he could feel it on his skin, but this would just have to do.

“Any time you're free, we'll gladly have you,” Percival said, stepping away from Roscuro then and leaving him behind.

Later that day, when Percival and Newt were preparing to go home, Percival mentioned to Newt, “Credence's sister approached me this morning.”

Newt went still at that, looking up with wide eyes. “She spoke to you too?” He asked, and this time it was Percival who looked curious.

“When did she approach you?” He queried, watching as Newt stood up straight from his desk.

“The same day Roscuro joined us.” Newt hesitated for a moment, then said, “She started telling me stuff. Saying that she was being haunted. By... By Credence.”

Percival harrumphed, crossing his own arms, then admitted, “She told me the same. But she also told me something interesting.” When Newt peered at him silently, Percival shared, “She said that Credence asked me to take care of you and Roscuro.”

Newt blinked, and in mere moments, he looked absolutely overcome by emotion. His eyes ran wet, his bottom lip trembled, and all of a sudden he was sobbing into his palm, muffling his cries until his shoulders were shaking. Percival was upon him in moments, grasping Newt by the shoulders, asking him what was wrong, then eventually pulling the boy in for a tight hug when Newt couldn't manage to muster up a word.

Newt was never a particularly religious man. In fact, he didn't think he ever stepped foot in a church in his life. But, standing here in Percival's arms, hearing that Credence's supposed ghost had told Percival to take care of not only Newt, but Roscuro, especially after Newt had _begged_ him for guidance... well, if there was ever an angel for Newt to believe in, it would be Credence. It made all the sense in Newt's world for him to come back from the afterlife.

As soon as his sobs had settled, Newt wrapped his arms around Percival's neck and hugged him even tighter. He gave the man a few shaky kisses, ones that Percival returned just as sweetly, although the touch of concern didn't leave his eyes, nor did his hands stop their reassuring petting down Newt's sides.

“Newt?” Percival finally managed to ask between thrilled kisses, and Newt smiled up at him, trying to blink through his tears, “You're worrying me...”

“I'm sorry,” Newt sniffed, pulling away just enough to wipe his tears away, trying to center himself, “I just.... Feel so much better... about Roscuro. If Credence really approves...” He sighed, still smiling. Percival stroked his side once more, then cradled Newt's cheek in his hand, wiping away a few stray tears. Newt grinned up at him, feeling at ease, and they shared one more soft kiss.

“So I guess it's good that I asked Roscuro to come back sometime before Thanksgiving?” Percival wondered aloud, and Newt gave a soft laugh, already nodding his head.

“Tell him he can come by after Thanksgiving, too.” Newt said, letting Percival hold him tight to his chest, relaxing in his strong arms, “And I promise I won't cry this time.”

Percival chuckled, endearing and warm inside, and he said, “I'll tell him, then.”

They went home with a lightness in their chest, Newt not feeling so foolish and guilty and Percival thrilled to finally move on, eager to get over the death of the boy he thought he couldn't live without.

And maybe the two of them were simply lying to themselves, merely replacing the absence Credence left with the faceless, voiceless Roscuro.

Credence would have to wait until he was put on overnight duty to go to the couple. Until then, he had to return to the barracks with Grindelwald, riding beside him in the bed of the truck, keeping his head down and suspicions low. Grindelwald had no clue, or if he did, he didn't think Credence's actions would jeopardize his plans. Credence would rather keep it that way.

“More protests are breaking out across the country,” A soldier told Grindelwald, looking down at the tablet in his hands, “A handful of schools were even set on fire.”

“Were there any soldiers inside?” Grindelwald asked, and the soldier shook his head.

“Only the night patrol, but no deaths have been reported. This sort of damage is going to be expensive, however...”

Grindelwald sighed, crossing his arms, then said, “If this keeps up, the public will begin to question our power. We'll have to enlist more officers from the pens.”

“Is that really a good idea?” Another soldier asked, green and unaware of Grindelwald's temper, although she faltered just a bit when Grindelwald focused a dark gaze on her, “Without the proper training and conditioning, we won't be able to guarantee a loyal or skilled team.”

Grindelwald's eyes narrowed. Credence curled in more on himself, and the other soldiers who had yet to participate in the conversation turned their heads the other way.

“What say you, then?” Grindelwald asked, voice cold and calculating, “Shall I conjure more soldiers from the air? Shall I invest my time in the study of homunculi?”

“W-well...” The woman stammered, and Credence clenched his jaw tightly, screaming in his mind for her just to shut up, to apologize and let it be, but she needed to learn on her own. “W-why don't we open the position to the public? Allow those who survived the Thinning to... to work on the campuses?”

Credence closed his eyes. Grindelwald barked out a sharp, sarcastic bite of laughter. “Shall we also tell them all of our dirty little secrets?” He questioned, stiff in his chair, “Shall we let not only them but the _rest_ of the public know that their poor, deceased little boys and girls are living underneath their _feet_ , working in sweatshops to manufacture the _shit_ they buy without a care for where it came from? In fact, why stop there? Why not tell the whole damned _world_ that America hasn't been culling their five percent like we claimed we were?!”

The girl had finally gone silent. Credence allowed Grindelwald to take a few breaths before he reached out to him, brushing his fingers against his thigh. Drawing the attention to himself. Grindelwald snatched his hand in a painful grip because of it, but Credence barely flinched.

“Keep your hands to yourself, fool,” Grindelwald spat, glaring Credence down instead, “Mute bitch, doesn't know when to act.”

Shoving Credence's hand back into his lap, Grindelwald announced irately, “We are heading underground tonight. We must begin training immediately. Credence,” He looked at the boy, brows pinched tightly and eyes deranged, “You will be taking charge underground in my absence.”

Credence jerked his head up, surprised and aghast. He opened his mouth to say as much, but stopped before a word could come. He still had the shock collar on. He didn't want to risk the pain.

“Cross me again, boy, and I'll bury a bullet in that damned Brit's head.” Grindelwald threatened, shoving a cruel finger against Credence's chest, sure to bruise his solar plexus. Credence still did not speak, but he felt his hands begin to quake and his worries swell. He wouldn't be able to see Percival and Newt again for Lord knows how long. He didn't even have a way to tell them. What would they think? That he abandoned them? That he quit? Maybe they would think he hadn't liked their first interaction. Maybe Newt would think he scared Roscuro off with his tears.

The flurry of thoughts made Credence feel sick to his stomach, but with the shock collar in place and Grindelwald sitting beside him, he could do nothing more than lean his elbows on his knees and try to breathe through the nausea.

Exiting from the Underground was nothing like entering it. Credence felt a wave of deja vu overcome him as he, Grindelwald, and the rest of the soldiers stepped into the basement of the barracks and filed into the metal lift, having to press in shoulder-to-shoulder in order to fit all of them. One officer slid the metal gate closed, and then another grabbed the lever at the side and cranked it forward. The whole elevator jolted, the floor trembling under their feet, and Credence swayed dangerously, breath catching in his throat. As they descended, Credence watched as the concrete that blocked them in gave way to dirt, earth, and then concrete and metal, the foreboding sign that they were entering the living Hell just beneath everyone's feet.

It took ten minutes. Ten minutes of just standing there, shoulders pressed to Grindelwald and a faceless nobody in a uniform similar to his. Ten minutes of hearing others breathe, others cough, others sniff and clear their throat. It was ten minutes of the loudest silence that Credence had to endure, the whine, click, and scrape of the elevator continuing its journey downward. He could only imagine how more horrible it would have been had he and the other Failures been awake and alert when being brought down. A handful of shaking, confused, naked teenagers who had just been told that they were going to die, forced to quietly suffer in the darkness wondering exactly what their fate might be.

Credence thought he might vomit already. If he had been awake the first time, he may not have been the only one to have.

With a final lurch, the elevator stopped, showing them a dimly lit hallway only a few meters in length. At the end was a reinforced steel door. An officer yanked open the metal gate. Credence moved to take a step, but Grindelwald stopped him with a shove.

“Wait until I open the door.” He told Credence. As Grindelwald stepped out of the elevator, Credence realized none of the other officers were stepping out, either. Grindelwald approached the door alone, his back blocking the view of whatever information he was inputting into the keypad there—if it was even a keypad—in order to unlock the door.

As soon as it slid open, the officers filed out of the elevator, chatting amongst each other as they stepped into the virtual blackness on the other side. Credence lingered for a few moments after they all filed out, his eyes locking onto Grindelwald, who was standing by the steel door, waiting for him. He could slam the metal gate shut, standing alone in this elevator. He could yank the lever back and bring himself back up to the world. He could escape Grindelwald, he could get himself free.

Grindelwald smirked at him, a playful but dangerous glint in his eyes, and he said, “Don't get any ideas, pet.”

Credence didn't move immediately. He really did think about it. His fingers itched to wrap around the metal gate and slam it shut. His heart pounded in his ears, the adrenaline burning in his veins...

Then, with a heavy sigh, Credence stepped off of the lift and shuffled to Grindelwald's side, head ducked and shoulders slumped. Grindelwald reached out, gripping Credence tightly by the back of his neck, and pulling him in nice and close to whisper in his ear, “Test my patience again and I'll end you.”

Credence gulped, but he didn't reply. Grindelwald didn't let go of him, not until he unlocked the shock collar from Credence's throat and pulled it off. “Get in there,” He ordered, jerking his head towards the darkness past the open door, and Credence obeyed without a second thought. He stepped blindly into the darkness, marching with more confidence than he was capable of holding until the outline of shapes became visible, then dim colors, then smaller details. He was at the end of the hall with the rest of the officers when he was capable of seeing more than five feet in front of him. There was another reinforced door in their way, and the officers congregated around it, chatting amongst themselves and making light jokes. A few chuckled lightly, their voices echoing in the hallway.

Grindelwald appeared a few moments later, grazing a hand possessively over Credence's shoulders before he approached the door.

“Welcome back to the Underground, men,” Grindelwald announced, pressing his thumb to the DNA scanner embedded into the door. After a whir and click, the door unlocked and swung inward. Grindelwald pulled his hand back, thumb beading with blood which he wiped off on Credence's shirt sleeve, and watched as his officers filed through the doorway, entering the factory underground with a much lighter air than Credence thought was reasonable. When the last officer filed through, Grindelwald pushed Credence forward and together they walked, entering the place Credence loathed with every last inch of his being.

First thing's first, they had to go up and down the lines and pull anyone fit and healthy enough to begin rigorous training. They had to make sure they didn't grab anyone _too_ young, lest their height and gangly adolescent forms give them away, but they still ended up gathering quite a few children just barely turning fourteen. Credence looked amongst their gaunt, fearful faces, wondering if they even knew what was happening. Maybe they thought they were being selected to die. Maybe that would have been better than what was going to happen.

They would be trained to be like the rest of these soldiers, heartless, egotistical, violent. They would become the very same people who treated them like shit, keeping the cycle turning. Credence loathed the truth, but it was inevitable. These people would be warped and Credence could only stand by and watch.

As soon as they had fifty of the workers lined up before them, Credence and nine other officers decided to split them up into groups of five, giving each officer a group to train. The officers looked between one another conspiratorially, then all nine of them rushed to pick their five, leaving Credence with the less desirable selection. Credence bit back a sigh and tried to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He wasn't surprised, he already knew the other officers didn't care for him. These slights against him were proof of that fact, and Credence could only bear with it.

As the officers and their groups dispersed from the hall, Credence remained, ignoring the sound of the factory workers just behind the door and the echoing footsteps of the officers and their wards that were slowly fading out. He waited, standing quietly until the last echo faded, until the hum of the factory became a muffled buzz in the back of Credence's mind, and only when he was certain that the other officers were gone did he really take a look at his group.

Five misfits, he was given. Chosen solely for their health, for not a single one of them sniffed or coughed or shivered with chills. Their eyes were bright, but their bodies clearly lacking. Credence felt so familiar with them already, knowing he himself had barely filled out his armor ever since he had been taken down here.

He walked down the short line-up, gauging each of them. In his group he had a squat, ill-proportioned young man with oily brown hair cut close to his scalp, making his flat nose look even wider than it already was. He had a tall girl, her early growth-spurt making her look older, though her chubby face and awkward stance belied her youth. Next, a rather plain looking thing, blue eyes probably much more beautiful in the natural sun than this dim, unflattering light. Their hair was already turning white from the lack of exposure, their waxy skin making them look worse for wear than they actually were. They looked at Credence, only for a moment, and Credence could tell they were much more intelligent than they let on. Lastly, there were the twins. Fresh meat to the Underground, which made them more desirable than the rest, but not chosen by the other officers because of their short stature. The girls couldn't have been taller than five feet, but their dark skin still held a sun-kissed quality to it, their eyes a glimmer that was typically stolen from most after their first year. They did not cling to each other in fear. They were both independent in their confidence, and yet they stood close to one another, afraid for what may happen to them by Credence's hand.

After giving each of them a quick glance, Credence stood before them, hands clutched into fists at his sides, and he said in his meek voice, “Your names, please.”

It certainly wasn't what the ragtag group had expected. They looked at one another, a quiet communication happening between them that Credence was deaf to, but they still obeyed despite the oddity that was Credence.

“Nathan,” The squat boy started off, voice much more shrill than Credence thought it would be.

“Empress,” The tall but young girl said next, quiet and trembling.

“Douglas,” The ghostly-pale individual stated in a whisper that carried well in the echoing room.

“Oak,” Said the first twin, sharp and sure.

“Ami,” Said the second, just as confident as her sister. Credence bobbed his head, looking over his group, wondering just what he was supposed to do now in order to get them prepared for the world above.

“I'm Credence,” He told them, trying to be the leader, although he felt very out of his skin, “But above-ground, they call me Roscuro. Above-ground, we need different names.”

Douglas' eyes lit up immediately, already understanding what the rest did not. So he was quick-minded. That was a good thing to have.

“I want each of you to decide what you want to be called when you eventually go above.”

The four others caught up with Douglas, and looked at one another in quiet shock, as if testing to see if they had heard the same. Credence let them fidget. It was a lot to take in, after all. And if he was going to have to work with this group, then he was going to have to earn their trust. He wouldn't be cruel to them. It was all he could do in an effort to retain their kindness.

“I'm not so good at names,” Credence admitted, regaining their attention, “But I can decide on names for you all. If you want.”

Glancing once more at each other from the corners of their eyes, they tried to decide if this was a test or not, if maybe they were being pranked. Maybe if they answered wrong, Credence would hurt them. Maybe if they angered their seemingly even-tempered officer, Credence would try to hurt them. Deciding it was better to be safe than sorry—or to have a name they liked—they each agreed to Credence naming them. Immediately, Credence felt the pressure weighing on his shoulders.

He sucked in a breath, trying to think quickly of suitable names for each of them, and eventually went down the line. He started first at Nathan, announcing in a quivering voice, “You'll be... N.... Nick.... Niff.... ler. Niffler. A-and... you can be, um... E-Er...Ernest? No.... Er- _oo_.... rum... pet. Erumpet. Yes.” Licking his lips and trying to ignore the disgruntled looks from the first two, he turned his gaze on Douglas and declared quickly, “Dougal.” Luckily, Douglas laughed.

Lastly, looking at the twins, he stammered out, “You... you can be... um... Oak-Ami.”

“Occamy?” The girls said in unison, looking at one another, and Credence nodded. “Which one of us?” They then asked, and Credence floundered.

“I-I don't know... both of you?” He suggested weakly, feeling suddenly hot underneath his armor. “I mean, you both look the same.”

The girls crossed their arms, faces pinching in distaste, but they didn't argue the fact. Credence cleared his throat, relieved that was over with, and then he looked over them all and asked, “Do you... Can you remember those? Are those fine?”

The five of them considered the question for a long, tense moment, but, since they were still afraid of Credence's position over them, they reluctantly nodded their heads, accepting their new, awkward names. Credence nodded as well, whispering a breathless, “Okay. Good.” Before he considered them all one last time. None of them were particularly made for fighting. None of them had the skill even after years of physical education. The Underground had not been kind to any of them, especially their muscles, and Credence knew it would be hard to gain the same sort of muscle mass the other officers had. Deciding to work with this limitation instead of against, Credence planned a crazy idea and asked, “Will you all please follow me, then?”

He turned and began to walk, only glancing back a few times to make sure the five of them were following, despite their unsettled frowns and curious gazes. Credence led his group down the hall and towards the elevator, allowing them to pile inside first before he, too, stepped in. Grabbing the lever with both hands, Credence jerked it forward, and the elevator began to descend.

Knowing he was no tour-guide like Samson or Grindelwald, Credence awkwardly explained during their descent, “We will be going to the very bottom floor. Erm.... not many officers tend to roam this area, but—but I am armed, so... so don't get any ideas. Please.” Credence bid them, glancing over his shoulder to offer them a pleading look before he finally let go of the lever.

As soon as the elevator stopped, Credence pushed open the gate and stepped out, waving the five of them out of the elevator and down the hall. Credence took the lead once again, pushing open the double-doors and guiding his team into the bottom floor's main room. Immediately, his team was taken with the rows upon rows of technology.

“It—It would be a good idea to start here,” Credence said, trying to raise his voice to be heard over the constant _clak-clak_ of the thousands of fingers flying over hundreds of keyboards, “I think, um, a lot of you will be familiar with this, um, sort of work.”

Credence guided them around the room, much to the amusement of the officer stationed to watch over the workers. One by one, his proteges splintered off, each one finding a task to be more interesting than others, until they were all sitting beside one of the workers, watching them click away on their old keyboards as they worked on their projects. Credence let out a breath, feeling better now that he didn't have to actively pretend like he knew how to lead, and he wandered towards the back of the room where an obnoxiously long table sat, its entire surface embedded with a glowing touchscreen. Sitting behind the desk, with her golden headset and rose-gold glove, sat Queenie, Credence's only real friend in this hole.

“Creedy,” She said in her delicate voice, curious smile on her cupid-bow lips, “You brought friends home?”

“Grindelwald needs more officers,” Credence explained, and Queenie hummed, obviously having known that already. She knew everything that happened the moment it happened, it seemed, and it was that knowledge that was somehow soothing about this woman. There was no secret kept from her, but at the same time, Credence didn't have to worry and flounder about how to approach any given subject, especially about himself. Queenie knew all there was to know about Credence and his ex-lovers, and she had no room in her kind heart to judge.

“Queenie,” Credence spoke up, hands twisting anxiously at his sides, “I want to ask a favor of you.”

Queenie took one look at him, batted her pretty lashes, then smiled once again. “Oh, honey,” She sighed, giving Credence a scolding smirk, “You look so pale. You. Need. Food.” He punctuated her words with a delicate tap of her gloved finger in the air, then turned her attention back to her table, “I know a fella in the kitchen who can make a pązcki that'll make your heart sing, you know.” She paused, then, and gave Credence a sharp look. She looked him up and down, _really_ looked at him, her eyes clear as day and keen as hell before she returned to her aloof self once again and corrected herself, “Although, you look more like a _babka_ fella to me.”

A wink in his direction and Credence had a new task in mind. Abandoning his five recruits, Credence booked it to the kitchens and hunted down the man he needed, finding him toiling away happily over a springy ball of dough while the oven behind him baked.

“Jacob,” Credence said as he approached, and though he made no attempt to sneak up on the man, Jacob still jumped as he turned, as if he hadn't expected anyone but himself to be in the kitchen that day.

“Oh, hey!” He said cheerily, patting a flour-covered hand on Credence's shoulder. Jacob was the second good thing in this dungeon, although, and Credence felt a bit bad about it, he was a bit hard to talk to. Jacob was painfully optimistic, and Credence couldn't gather the patience to agree with him half the time. Still, despite Credence's cold shoulder, the man still pulled through whenever he was needed.

“Jacob,” Credence said again, voice quiet and eyes wide, “I heard you can make babka.”

“Hey, yeah! Learned the recipe from my great aunt, anyway.” He hummed pleasantly, and Credence shuffled on his feet.

“I—I've always wanted to try it,” He told Jacob, trying to express his true intentions with his eyes and tone of voice, “Would you mind making a babka for me?”

“Sure thing, pal. I'll make anything you want me to.” Jacob smiled, everything about him soft and genuine. He patted Credence's shoulder again then turned back to his dough. Credence chewed on his bottom lip but knew there was no point in lingering. He had come to place his order, and if past experience had anything to show him, he knew Jacob would deliver.

Just as he turned around, however, the oven dinged, and Jacob jumped.

“Oh, hang on there, pal,” He told Credence, tugging on a pair of oven mittens so he could pull out the tray of freshly baked pastries. “Would you mind making a trip for me?”

“Not at all,” Credence said, turning back towards Jacob as the man jostled about, surprisingly fast and nimble for a man his size. He pulled together a pązcki, made only an hour ago, and wrapped it up in a thin napkin before he handed it off to Credence.

“Mind givin' that one to my gal?” He asked, a love-struck look in his eyes, “Let her know I put an extra little bit o' me in this one.”

“Okay,” Credence said, barely interested, but this was the least he could do for this man after putting in his own request. Jacob let Credence go, then, and Credence quickly made his way back down, finding his team still wandering amongst the workers, the awe yet to wane. With the pązcki in hand, Credence approached Queenie and offered her a genuine, “Thank you.”

“Oh, honey, you shouldn't have!” She gasped, already spying the sweet wrapped in the napkin. Despite her words, Queenie snatched the dessert from Credence's grip, already beginning to unwrap it.

“U-um...” Credence spoke up, stopping the golden woman from tucking right in, “He says there's... a piece of him. In this one.”

Queenie's eyes went round, and she let out a soft, “Oh!” before she looked back at the pązcki. Unfettered by the stickiness, Queenie tore it in two, then dug her fingers right into the gooey middle. Credence watched with a sort of sick fascination, wondering what exactly she was trying to do, and only finding out when she pulled a thin, tightly wrapped note from the center.

She popped the note into her mouth, then, using her tongue to tuck it away somewhere against her cheek, then smiled up at Credence and said earnestly, “Thank you, sweetie.”

“It's—It's no problem.” Credence replied.

“You'll be in the kitchen tomorrow, won't you?” Queenie inquired smoothly, blinking innocently up at the man, “For the babka.”

Credence nodded, caught on, and said, “I'll... see if I can get you another pązcki.”

“Oh, thank you, honey.” She smiled, picking at her current pastry, “You might want to head out now. Sammy will be headed this way and she won't be too happy seeing you and your group here.”

Giving a smile, Credence offered her another quiet thanks before he turned to face the room, seeing his ragtag group doing some of the work under the keen supervision of the techs. Credence cleared his throat and, trying to project, called out, “W-we should be going, now.”

Dougal was the only one who looked up at Credence. The others seemed too enraptured in the work they were doing to hear him. Credence felt his face flush, and he tried to clear his throat again, but a mixture of embarrassment and nerves kept his throat locked up tight. Luckily, it seems like Dougal was ready to help.

Getting up from their seat, Dougal quickly went to each individual, tugging on their arms and whispering in their ears. One by one, he got their attention, and soon all five of them were waiting by the doorway leading back to the elevator. Credence approached them quickly, cheeks red, and he said in a small voice, “Th-thank you. Erm... We should—We should figure out where the others have gone.”

They managed to find the other teams touring the bunks where the officers and trainees stayed. They all crept in at the very back of the tour, and their absence somehow went unnoticed. Not a single one of them mentioned the little detour they took. When the groups were allowed to select their bunks, Credence found his group choosing a set of beds placed directly beside each other, the Occamy twins pairing up on one of the twin-sized mattresses. While the other recruits began to chat amongst one another, becoming loud and boisterous as they settled into their new living arrangements outside of the factory, Credence's group remained clustered together, speaking in low tones and keeping to themselves.

Credence slowly felt himself relax, standing away from the other officers and watching over the younger recruits. It was unfortunate, but they all seemed so much happier now that they were out of the factory and certain that they weren't about to be killed. They talked and laughed, their voices rough from disuse, though that didn't stop them from reveling in their new freedom. Credence couldn't help the small smile that spread on his face, distantly hoping that they can keep this sort of innocent joy, even if it was only for a little while.

He startled to attention with the other officers when Grindelwald suddenly entered. The room fell silent immediately, all eyes on him, and Grindelwald smirked at the attention.

“So _these_ are my newest recruits.” He said, looking around the room slowly, keenly, “It's very good to have you all here. I understand you must be a little jarred from the sudden change, some of you may be confused, but rest assured, this is a _good_ change. From today on, you will be trained by my officers in order to follow in their footsteps. These men will not accept failure. They will push you to your limits, mentally and physically. They will break you down so that you can be built back up. And once you're ready, they will take you outside.”

A gasp echoed through the room, followed by excited whispering amongst the recruits. Grindelwald allowed them to bubble in excitement about the chance to return above-ground, biding his time before he regained control with a booming, “However...” Everyone looked back at him, “This does not guarantee that you will make it that far. If my men think you are a risk to bring above, if any of them think you have not fulfilled your training, then you will be thrown back into the factory. If my men think you are disloyal or a risk, then you will be killed.”

Silence stretched in the room, and Grindelwald made sure to look over them all one more time, before finally saying, “I will not be here to oversee your progress. In my place,” He waved towards Credence, who stepped forward obediently, head bowed, “Credence will be watching. My men will answer to him and so will all of you.”

Giving a gesture, Credence took a few steps back, and Grindelwald tucked his hands behind his back. “You will return to this hall every evening. In the mornings, your training officers will meet you here. You are not to wander without your officer. If you are found anywhere alone, you will be killed on sight.” A few of the recruits glanced at one another. Credence's team seemed unshaken.

With that out of the way, Grindelwald offered the recruits a very misleading smile, then said, “Well, it's time I returned to my business. My officers and Credence will take it from here.” He turned away from the recruits, then, and walked casually out of the dorm. Credence watched him go from under his lashes, flinching when Grindelwald's hand patted his shoulder possessively.

By the time he was gone, the other officers were leaving as well. Credence lingered, watching each one of them leave until he was the last one standing there amongst a room of fifty recruits. They had begun to talk, though they looked towards him fretfully. Credence gazed at them, wondering what might be going through their minds, what they might be thinking of him.

Clearing his throat, Credence bid them all, “Good night.” But he only got a few replies in return, mostly from his own group. He didn't take it personally. He wouldn't have wanted speak to a person he believed had a hand in their previous life of torture.

He left them in peace after that, returning to Grindelwald's apartment for a little rest himself.

 


	7. Thanksgiving

The next day, he waited for the other officers to collect their group before he corralled his own. Double-checking down the hall to ensure they weren't in hearing range from anyone else, Credence looked back to his group and told them, “I didn't hand pick you. The other officers, they decided you weren't worth the trouble.” Lowering his gaze, Credence admitted, “I know what it's like to be a burden.” Then, meeting their eyes again, he added, “But I also know what it's like discovering what you're truly meant for.”

Looking over them, committing their faces to memory and hoping he was making the right choice, he asked them, “Do you think you're meant to be _here_?”

They looked at one another, and Credence saw with some surprise that his words had inspired his recruits. After a long moment of silent deliberation, Dougal spoke up with a confident, “No one is.”

Credence pressed his lips into a line, a swell of pride in his gut, though he tried not to show it. He gave them a curt nod, then said, “We're... We're going to have a different sort of training than the others. But that means we c-can't tell them about it. Okay?”

They nodded resolutely, and Credence chewed on his bottom lip before he gestured with his hand for them to follow him. “We're returning back down to the-the surveillance room. I want you to learn as much as you can. About the equipment, I mean.”

Another nod and Credence lead them out of the hall and towards the elevator. Their journey down went as smoothly as the one before, although this time, Credence only walked them in before telling them he was going to do other work.

“B-But what about what the man said?” Erumpet suddenly asked, looking worried, “If we're caught without you, they'll shoot us.”

“Hush.” Credence quelled her quickly, glancing around to make sure no one else heard them, “You'll be just fine. The only one who comes here with a gun is Samson.” However, this didn't seem to soothe them.

“Samson?” Niffler groused, bug-eyed, “She wouldn't hesitate a second!”

Credence couldn't help but roll his eyes. Even though he knew they were unfamiliar with the space down here, he thought they should at least trust him, considering he had been skirting around her and the other officers for so long already.

“So long as you stay towards the walls, she won't notice you.” Credence explained calmly, brows furrowed, “She only comes to check on Queenie, anyways. So when she comes in, just keep your heads down.”

Dougal, it seemed, was the only one without a worry about their situation. They rocked on their feet for a moment, then said, “These desks are solid. If any of us are worried about being seen, we could always hide underneath.”

“Wouldn't that be odd?” One Occamy asked, looking towards Dougal uncertainly.

“Wouldn't they say something?” The other Occamy wondered, gesturing towards the workers, silently and sedately tapping away on their keyboards.

“They won't,” Credence said with certainty, “They came from the same factories as you, you know. They're here because of the same test. They won't tell.”

“We'll be fine,” Dougal said, smiling at their companions. “The longer we stand here, the less time we'll have, anyway.”

With a reluctant sigh, Niffler grumbled, “You're right. Unless we want to be with the others doing _laps_ or what have you, we might as well take advantage of the time we have.”

“So what are we waiting for?” One Occamy asked while the other was already running off to find someone to tutor her.

“If we're really going up, then I'm getting the credit card info.” Niffler declared, running off as well.

“Then I'm going to look into blueprints and architectural plans.” Erumpet grinned, taking off herself.

“Oh!” The remaining Occamy gasped, looking determined, “I want to study the CCTV cameras!” and she, too was gone.

Dougal remained behind, looking at Credence for a long moment. When Credence frowned nervously at them, Dougal asked, “Is there anything you need us to learn?”

Credence pressed his lips into a line, anxious, but managed to suggest, “It may be a good idea to—to learn about campus security in the public schools. How to, erm, control them, and such.”

Dougal blinked, but they nodded without complaint. Instead, just before they turned away, Dougal said to Credence, “Be careful, please.”

Credence nodded, and he left them in the surveillance room without another word.

He made the short journey to the kitchen, where he sought Jacob out immediately. Upon approaching the man, Credence was fully expecting to receive something from him, but when Jacob laid his eyes on Credence, he merely looked thrilled and said, “There's the man of the hour! Hey, I need a favor from you.”

Credence's brows lifted, surprised, but he didn't object. Instead, he asked, “What do you need?”

Pulling out a tray from the oven, Jacob tugged off his mittens while explaining, “You see, I made a little snack earlier today. We call it a _babka_ ,” Credence's eyes lit up, but he didn't interrupt, “I wanted to deliver this to the man up above—Gary, I think his name is.”

Credence's brows quirked, and he asked, “From imports?” When Jacob merely nodded, Credence admitted dumbly, “I don't understand...”

“I just need you to give it to him,” Jacob explained, smiling kindly at the boy while handing over the babka, “Tell him Benni asked me to whip it up for him.” And then, as if it were a secret, Jacob leaned in and whispered, “And she'd love to know how it tastes, alright? So make sure he takes a good bite.”

Brows dipped low, Credence took the babka and nodded, still not entirely understanding, but able to gather that _this_ was what Queenie had suggested he do. As soon as the babka transferred hands, Jacob turned back to his work and Credence scurried off, taking the elevator past the factory and towards the top, reaching imports with no trouble at all.

He entered the warehouse, walking by the foreign workers who barely gave him a glance of recognition. He marched down the lines and up to the small office tucked in the back corner, finding the officer in charge—Gary—lounging back in his chair. He looked up when Credence cleared his throat, and although he looked surprised to see him there, he didn't look the least bit worried.

“Samson send you?” He asked, and when Credence shook his head, his confusion only grew, “Whatcha up here for, then?”

Licking his lips, Credence procured the babka and said in a small voice, “Benni wanted you to have this.” Gary blinked at the dessert in Credence's hands, bewildered, and Credence added, “Sh-she enlisted the talents of a well-known pastry chef in the kitchen. Um... she wants to kn-know what you think of it.”

Gary looked up at Credence, eyes wide, and he asked, “Benni did? Really?”

“Mhm.”

Reaching for the babka like one might reach for an infant, Gary cradled the dessert with both hands before delicately placing it on his messy desk, staring down at it with such rapturous awe that Credence wondered if there was an image of God Himself burned into the top. Credence watched Gary stare at the babka, mouth hanging open and eyes twinkling, but when he made no move to eat it, Credence cleared his throat sharply, making Gary jump in his seat.

“S-sir,” Credence spoke up, brows arched, “The taste?”

“Oh, right, of course...” Gary said a bit breathlessly, shoving papers and food wrappers across and off of his desk in search for a fork. As soon as he found one, he cut a hefty chunk from the side of the desert, and nearly immediately popped it into his mouth.

With a luxurious groan, Gary tilted his head back and said through a full mouth, “God, this is like _heaven_. What's in this thing?”

“Haven't the slightest,” Credence admitted, watching Gary closely, wondering just _what_ he was supposed to be looking for if anything.

“Benni was right--this guy is a prodigy!” Gary declared, scooping up another forkful and promptly munching down, following it up with another dramatic moan, “I should go tell her in person how fantastic this is!”

Credence's brows lifted immediately. This must be what he was waiting for. Quickly, he nodded his head, saying, “I-I bet she'd love that! You should go see her. Immediately.”

“Yeah!” Gary got up from his chair with a heavy groan, “I'll go see her myself!”

He then took a confident step forward, then dropped face-first to the ground. Credence skittered out of the way with a gasp, eyes wide and heart pounding. Oh God, he thought in a panic, he's just killed him! He's a murderer!

Credence nearly dropped to his knees to pray, but a sharp snore tearing through the air stopped him. He stared down at Gary's prone form, waiting with bated breath, and when the second snore came from him he all but sighed in relief. He wasn't dead, thank God. Jacob must have packed the babka full of sedatives.

But now that Gary was knocked out, Credence had full access to Gary's work desk. And, more importantly, Gary's telephone. Exactly what he wanted.

Credence plopped down in Gary's seat and scooted forward, pulling the phone closer to him and grimacing at the bulk. The thing was so old, Credence wouldn't be surprised to find out it didn't work. In fact... Credence lifted the cradle, eyes wide. Was this a landline? How primitive.

Shaking his head, Credence lifted the phone and pressed it to his ear, hearing a dial tone. That was a good sign. He poised his hand over the dial pad, giving himself a moment to gather himself, then dialed the one number he remembered.

The phone rang. It rang and rang and rang. Credence thought for a worried moment that they weren't going to answer, but on the fifth ring, there was finally a click, followed by an unfamiliar girl's voice asking, “Hello?”

Credence paused. His brow furrowed and he glanced at the phone, as if he could see the person on the other side if he looked long enough. When the girl called out again, a bit petulant, Credence pressed the speaker back to his ear and asked, “Who is this?”

There was silence for a moment, and then the girl said, “I think _I'm_ supposed to be asking that.” When Credence didn't reply, however, she supplied, “I'm Modesty.”

“Modesty.” Credence murmured, brows furrowed. That definitely sounded like a name Ma would give her child. But it was hard to imagine that she would adopt another child. “Is Chastity there?”

“She's in school right now.” Modesty said, following it up with a deceitful cough and a nasally, “But I'm sick today, so I have to stay home.”

Credence felt the corners of his lips tug in a smile. Whoever this girl was, Credence liked her. He felt a touch of regret that he couldn't meet this girl, that he probably never would. He also realized, with a bit of vengeful pleasure, that this meant Mary Lou no longer believed in Chastity's intelligence. She mustn't have done well last year.

“So who _is_ this?” Modesty then asked, and Credence wondered what he should tell her. Would she know who Credence is? Had Mary Lou told her about him? He didn't know. He didn't think Mary Lou would want to bring up her failure son who managed to almost bypass the entire system, but at the same time, Mary Lou would use anything at her disposal to make sure her girls were in line, even if it meant threatening to make sure they ended up 'dead' like him.

Deciding he didn't want to get into specifics with her, Credence avoided the question and instead said, “Can you do something for me, Modesty?” The girl sighed, but Credence asked anyways. “Will you tell her I called?”

“Okay, but _who is this_?” She huffed.

“Don't worry about it. She'll know.” Credence said, smiling a little. And then, deciding to be a little cruel, Credence added, “Tell her that I'll call again. I'll always call again.”

Modesty drawled out an uncomfortable, “Okay...?”

“Thank you, Modesty,” Credence said kindly, leaning against the desk, “Erm... do well in school.”

“Yeah, alright....” She hummed, uncertain.

“Goodbye,” Credence said, brows furrowing. When Modesty returned the farewell, Credence put the phone back on the cradle and sighed. He wouldn't be able to call again unless he drugged Gary again, and he was almost certain that at this point, Gary was going to be a little reluctant in eating anything Credence would give him.

Looking at the unconscious man still snoring on the ground, Credence figured he was going to be out of it for a while longer. Well, he might as well take advantage of it while he can.

Looking at the monitor set on the desk—and God, that was old, too—Credence looked through the system, perusing through the inventory until he stumbled upon the ordering list for various medications. There were supplements, steroids, insulin, IV fluid, birth control—a long, long list of medicine that Credence didn't even know about or what they were for. He scrolled through the list slowly, brows raised at the quantities they ordered bi-monthly, and then he found a curious medication on the list.

Asphodex. Credence frowned in confusion, wondering what they needed Asphodex for. Surely if one of the factory workers had ADHD or chronic anxiety, Grindelwald would have relocated them, lobotomized them, or killed them. He hadn't been hesitant to do so for a guy who had gotten mad, nor did he have any issues doing so for children who had a cough or the stomach flu. He looked over the quantities, saw the ordering rate, and wondered further just _what_ they could be using it for.

It came to him in a memory, recalling Samson telling him that no one would be revolting if they were constantly happy. Asphodex--though it was made to treat ADHD amongst other ailments by mimicking the affects of dopamine while also acting as a light tranquilizer--could easily affect anyone else. People up top often take them to increase their focus, even if they don't have ADHD. Credence remembers doing an essay about Asphodex addiction and abuse. There were studies out there that claimed they didn't actually do anything for people not suffering from ADHD, but if that were the case, why would they be using it here?

An idea came to mind, then, and he cast a glance at Gary as he considered it. Gary had already shown he was quite incompetent. God forgive him, but Credence didn't think Gary was even double-checking the orders before submitting them. He probably had this list, sent it in, and that was that.

With a small smile, Credence deleted the Asphodex and, pushing his mind to remember what it was called, typed in a name for a prescription placebo—Cebocap.

He jumped in his seat with a gasp when Gary suddenly groaned and began to shift around. He saved and closed the program, then hopped to his feet, grabbed the remaining babka and scurried out of the office, making his way to the elevator before Gary could wake up and question him.

He would have to wait, now. Wait and see if what he had done would have any sort of impact, if it really was the Asphodex they were using to keep those trapped down here calm.

Miles above him, the week passed with a tense air, Newt anxious to see Roscuro again. Percival was a bit more relaxed about the situation, but when neither of them saw Roscuro before Thanksgiving break, they began to doubt his interest. Newt more-so. He had begun to have his doubts only halfway through the week, but the longer they went without seeing Roscuro, the more despondent he became. Percival, meanwhile, only became anxious. It was fine that Roscuro hadn't come to them. They told Roscuro that he didn't have to stay with them if he didn't want to, and Percival meant it. What made him nervous was that he hadn't seen hide or hair of that man on campus _at all_.

His suspicions only grew the more he saw Grindelwald walking the halls, accompanied by at least one of his officers. Something had to have happened to Roscuro to explain his absence. Which meant that he wasn't coming to them not because he didn't want to, but because he _couldn't_.

Percival didn't share his theory, however, until the first night of Thanksgiving break. Newt was curled up on his side while Percival sat up, reading the news on his IGlass, a pair of glasses atop his nose. Talk of student-led protests leading to entire schools shutting down for almost a week was startling, but Percival thought their efforts were futile. No matter what they did, the Thinning would continue to exist.

Although, Percival began to wonder, maybe these protests wouldn't be happening if the mix-up over Newt and Credence last year hadn't happened. Percival looked at Newt's back, peering over his glasses, and thought to himself, if he had allowed Newt to be marched to his death instead of Credence, would any of this be happening?

It didn't matter now, Percival supposed. What's done is done, and no matter what _could_ have been, nothing was going to change. In order to distract himself, Percival cleared his throat, then said, “Have you seen Roscuro at all before the break?”

Newt shifted where he lay, voice quiet and annoyed as he mumbled, “No.”

Percival frowned. Tugging off his glasses, he set them and his IGlass on the nightstand just to his right, then looked at Newt again. “Have you seen him at all after we invited him in?”

“No,” Newt said again at the end of a sigh, voice tight.

Percival rapped his fingers against his thigh, then said, “I think something may have happened to him.”

Newt scoffed at the idea, his shoulders rising to his ears, and he groused, “Yeah. _I_ happened. I started _crying_ like an emotional _slag_.”

“Newt,” Percival sighed, and Newt flopped over onto his back, scowling at Percival with teary eyes, “It's not your fault and you know it.”

“How can you even say that to me?” Newt complained, pushing himself up until he, too, was sitting, allowing them to speak at the same level, “If I didn't burst into tears, I wouldn't have scared him away!”

“You didn't--!” Percival cut himself off, knowing that arguing with Newt was entirely useless. Instead, Percival brought the conversation back to the original topic, “I haven't seen him on campus at all, Newt. Even if he didn't want to join us, we would have seen him doing his rounds.”

Newt huffed, already turning to lay back down, and he muttered, “Maybe he quit.”

“Officers can't quit,” Percival said flatly, irritated by Newt's dismissive attitude.

“Then maybe he transferred to another school!” Newt yelled, tugging the blanket over his shoulders, trying to put an end to the conversation, “I don't know, Percival!”

Percival rolled his eyes, allowing Newt to brood. Even if Percival honestly didn't think Newt had anything to do with Roscuro's disappearance, him telling the boy that would do nothing to ease his mind. Still, Newt was being childish, and Percival couldn't help but mutter under his breath, “It wouldn't hurt to show even an ounce of concern for someone else, you know.”

Newt didn't utter a word. Instead, he threw the blankets back, got up from the bed, grabbed his pillow and marched right out of the room. Percival only rolled his eyes again, not even sorry for his biting words. He'd let Newt sleep on the couch like he had for the past few nights. It wouldn't bother him because he knew Newt was simply being sensitive and narrow-minded. Roscuro's absence was beyond their relationship, but Newt was too embarrassed to see that.

The next morning, they would forget about the conversation. Newt would continue to mope and Percival would focus on enjoying his time off with his lover. Maybe they'll even get intimate again. Lord knows they hadn't even touched each other since that experience with Roscuro.

It wasn't brought up again until a few days later. They were eating dinner, the animosity from their first conversation cooled to a simmer, and Newt was perusing the news feed on his own IGlass. Percival wasn't at all interested until he heard Newt give a half-hearted, “Huh.”

Percival glanced up, chewing slowly. “Huh, what?” He asked, and Newt scrolled on the page he was on, still reading. He took a few more moments, read a few more lines, then said, “Senator Barebone is currently under fire from the local public. They are questioning her motives and intentions for the years she allowed her son, Credence Barebone, to evade the Thinning. It is also bringing up questions about who else might be giving their children, nieces, or nephews what the government is calling 'free passes,' not to mention who might have taken their place in the slaughter halls.”

Percival sighed, leaning his elbows heavily on the table, putting his head in his hand. “It's only a matter of time before they start outing everyone who's given free passes.”

Newt hummed, still scrolling through the article, and then he mentioned, “They're only mentioning government officials so far. No one is suspecting the teachers have any influence. You're probably fine.” Newt sighed, picking up his fork to play with his food, though his eyes remained glued to his IGlass. After a few more lines, he continued reading aloud, “Investigations are underway to ensure her current children, Chastity and Modesty Barebone—the latter having been a recent addition to the Barebone household—are not receiving the same privileges. So far, no foul play has turned up.”

“Modesty?” Percival hummed, and Newt looked up with a confused frown, “I don't remember Credence mentioning a Modesty.”

“Me neither.” Newt sighed, putting his IGlass down, “I guess when they say recent, they mean very recent.”

Percival huffed, shaking his head disapprovingly. “I guess Chastity hasn't been meeting Mary Lou's standards.”

“What do you mean?” Newt asked, setting his IGlass down and focusing more on his dinner—and their conversation.

Percival gave a nonchalant shrug, then said, “Just something Credence told me. He said Mary Lou adopted Chastity when he started failing his 10-241. She was still vouching for him, of course—Chastity didn't need a free pass. When they got older, however, Credence grew more and more worried about Mary Lou's vouches, so he and I... well, we met.”

Suddenly, Newt adorned a very pinched, disturbed look. He eyed Percival up and down, then said, “Don't tell me you offered....”

“It wasn't like that,” Percival sighed, looking irritated. “I was merely tutoring him at first. Our relationship grew from there. Besides, I loved Credence. I would never threaten him like that.”

Newt slowly relaxed, though he looked a little doubtful still. Percival figured as much. Credence and Percival's relationship was immoral at best, and downright pedophilic at worst, although Percival didn't want to consider himself as one. It was only ever Credence that he loved. Newt, too, in a way.

“Sorry,” Newt sighed, lowering his gaze and pushing his food around his plate, “I guess I just assumed the worst.”

“It's fine. I don't expect anyone to understand how it happened.” Percival admitted, brows furrowed, “I don't understand how it happened myself.”

Newt shifted in his chair, awkward, and placed the fork on the table. He picked the tablet back up, going back to his articles, and Percival focused back on his dinner, allowing the silence to calm him.

Another article caught Newt's attention. He read with a furrowed brow and gave a distressed hum. Percival peered back up at him, not needing to ask, merely waiting until Newt read it aloud. This time, though, it took longer for Newt to do so. He scrolled on the page, eyes scanning the words quickly, and then he scrolled all the way back up, blinking in surprise.

“Just _yesterday_?” He whispered, more to himself, and Percival lowered his fork.

“What is it?” Percival questioned, watching as Newt's mouth fell open, jaw working as if he was trying to force the words out.

With enough force to make his voice _crack_ , Newt said in disbelief, “S-someone set the school on fire.”

Percival's brows shot up. “Say again?” He requested, and now Newt was standing, bringing the IGlass with him around the table, plopping without warning in Percival's lap. Percival looked at the screen, reading it over as well.

“Someone set the school on fire,” Newt said again, while Percival read the words:

' _Firefighters were called to the local Ilvermorny campus after alarms were set off. By the time trucks arrived, the school was up in flames, the smoke being seen from miles away. Working long into the night, firefighters were unable to quench the flames until early this morning, around four a.m._

_After the fire was put out, police were called to investigate, as well as the campus security, including Grindelwald himself, as well as his right-hand man, Roscuro. Police are blaming this blaze on a so-far-unnamed arsonist. They say the blaze itself started outside of the school building, which should have prevented the flames from getting inside, but due to an oversight from campus faculty, a window to one of the classrooms had been left open. This allowed the fire to get inside the building and spread from there. Police are currently investigating the teacher to see if they have anything to do with the arson._

_“We are in a place where the youth can no longer rely on the validity of the 10-241 due to the illegal actions taken by government officials.” Grindelwald said in an interview about the arson, “While it may seem hard to believe, it's extremely likely that the arsonist was a student of Ilvermorny. Whether they are at risk of failure of the 10-241 or not cannot be said with certainty.”_

_Journalists then turned to Roscuro, who had this to say: “The destruction of this school is a blatant radical protest movement conducted by our youth. After the deception of the older generation, they are scared for themselves and are willing to take extreme measures in order to postpone the inevitable. This is not the first protest, nor will this be the last. America's younger generations are demanding change. They are rising together against the 10-241.”_

_However, after asking what steps would be taken to ensure such radical protests were stopped, Roscuro refused to comment.'_

Percival looked at Newt, and Newt blinked up at him with a frown, obviously worried. “Do you think they'll do something like this during school?”

“No,” Percival said, although he wasn't sure himself, “They're after the school, not the students...”

Newt shifted a little, then asked, “Not the faculty?”

Percival pressed his lips into a line, but said, “Not the faculty.”

The news was put out of their mind for the next two days. Thanksgiving came, Percival taking charge of making them a hearty turkey dinner while Newt wandered around the house in a sort of daze, cell phone clutched hopefully in his hands the entire time. When they sat down for dinner—although a three o'clock meal was only ever dinner on Thanksgiving—Newt barely touched his food, staring wistfully at his phone set atop the table instead, He pushed his food around listlessly, checking his notifications every half-minute. His nerves were becoming infectious, however, and soon even Percival found himself tapping his fingers impatiently on the tabletop.

“Everything okay over there?” Percival finally managed to ask, and Newt's face crumpled.

“I haven't heard from Theseus at all,” He admitted, sliding his hands under the table, still staring at his phone, “I thought that maybe he'd try calling today... We never celebrated Thanksgiving, but... I _know_ he's not working.”

Percival's brow dipped, then he asked, “Why don't you text him?”

But Newt only sighed, shoulders slumped, and he mumbled, “I don't know... I don't want to bother him if he doesn't want to talk... He's... probably still upset with me, anyway.” Newt shifted awkwardly in his seat, eyes growing wet, and he stuffed the phone into his pocket with a touch of malice before saying in a thick voice, “I-It doesn't matter. If he doesn't want to—to make up, then fine.”

Frowning, Percival set his fork down and said in a quiet voice, “Newton...”

“I don't n-need him, anyway.” Newt huffed, scrubbing at his eyes angrily, then giving a loud sniff before he picked his fork back up, moodily stabbing at his food although he didn't make the effort to bring it to his mouth. “I have _you_. I don't need him.” Percival didn't say a word. He merely continued to look on, feeling his heart breaking for Newt, but the redhead wasn't done. “I-I got a _full_ _ride_ without him! I passed the Thinning _without him_! I-I don't need him st-sticking his nose in m-my life!”

Giving a long sigh, Percival was about to speak up when Newt made a particularly violent stab into his turkey and spat out, “It's not l-like he's all the f-family I have left!” And almost immediately after, tears were spilling down his cheeks and hiccuping sobs bubbled from his throat. He gave a single wail, trembling hands covering his face, and Percival was up and moving long before Newt sobbed out his name.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Percival cooed, pulling the young man into his arms, tucking Newt's head tight against his chest, allowing him to stifle his sobs with his shirt. “There you go, working yourself up like this.” Percival tutted, combing his fingers through his curly hair, gently working the tangles free, although it only seemed to make his hair poof out. Slowly, he began to rock him back and forth, beginning to rub his back all the while.

“Wh-why doesn't he l-love me?” Newt whimpered, clutching tightly at Percival's shirt, not daring to lift his head lest his teary face make even Percival run away in disgust, “I-I'm his brother! He's sup-supposed to... supposed t-to...” He sobbed again, shoulders trembling, fingers clutching.

“I don't know, baby,” Percival sighed, leaning down enough to tuck his chin against the top of Newt's head, “I don't know, but he's making a _huge_ mistake. There's no one alive in this world that deserves more love than you, Newton. And if he's going to neglect you like this--” Percival paused, reaching down and forcing Newt to look up at him, meeting the quivering boy's eyes and never once flinching in distaste, even when Newt was certain he had tears staining his cheeks and snot clogging his nose, “If he's going to neglect you like this, then I'll just have to love you tenfold.”

Newt closed his eyes, giving one last shuddering sob, and he tilted his head against Percival's palm. He allowed the older man to pull him back into a hug, allowed him to wipe his face clean with his hands and then kiss him on the forehead, the nose, the lips, until he was no longer whimpering with sorrow and the loneliness burning in his chest was nothing but a dull ache.

Newt drew close to Percival that night in bed. It had been a while since the boy curled up at Percival's side, heart too broken from Roscuro's disappearance and emotions too tender to allow for anything too intimate, but Newt needed comfort, and he sought it from the only man he thought would give it to him. As Percival's arms wrapped around his middle, palms resting flat on Newt's stomach to keep him close, Newt tucked his nose against the pillows and sighed. His tears had all but dried out by then, but he still managed to squeeze out few if the tepid dampness beneath his cheek was anything to go by. He didn't do a thing about it, however. He merely closed his eyes and accepted the fact that he was just an unlikable man, this belief only spurred on when he recalled the fact that Percival would have never approached it had it not been for Credence.

The rest of the week went by so much quicker, it seemed. Thanksgiving had only just happened and then Monday was upon them. Newt felt like he was still too tired, not at all rested from the week-long break. Regardless, he and Percival got up early in the morning and prepared themselves for the day. While Percival showered, Newt brushed his teeth. While Newt pulled on his clothes, Percival cooked. They both ate quickly before hurrying out to the car, Newt carrying Percival's classwork for him as Percival skimmed over the weather report for the day followed closely by the traffic.

The ride to school was silent. Newt was nodding off in his seat, already used to sleeping in even though it had only been a week. Percival, luckily, remained vigilantly focused on the road, sipping his coffee with one hand on the wheel.

As soon as they pulled up to the school, though, Percival roused Newt with a soft, “Baby, look.”

Lifting his head and rubbing the sand from his eyes, Newt looked out the window and immediately gaped in surprise.

While all of the buildings were still standing, one of them was cordoned off and being patrolled by a mix of policemen and campus officers. From where they were approaching the building, they saw nothing wrong with it, but as soon as the other side came into view, they saw the damage. The wall itself was stained black from soot and ash, outlining the gaping hole in it that exposed the building's infrastructure and interior. The furniture immediately visible was blackened and charred, a few investigators pacing around inside. Even Grindelwald could be seen, speaking at length with the woman who must have been in charge at the scene, his arms crossed and face drawn in a scowl.

The building soon vanished as they pulled into the parking lot. Newt looked over at Percival, his heart throbbing in fear, but Percival remained resolute and merely stated, “It's just fear mongering. No one will do anything while school is in session.”

Newt nodded, having no choice but to believe in him. He gathered the classwork in his arms and stepped out of the car, Percival leading them into the main building. At least their classroom had been untouched.

As they headed for their building, Percival holding both his and Newt's cups of coffee and Newt hugging the classwork to his chest, they both noticed the sudden increase of campus officers, especially when they realized the officers were lining students up and checking each and every one of them. They were all masked and armed, two of them flanking every entrance with shotguns on display. When Percival and Newt approached, Newt spied a familiarly unique mask and immediately ducked his head, cheeks burning in a mix of shame and anger. Percival immediately caught on, leaning close to whisper to Newt, “Why don't you go around? I'll be there in just a moment.”

Irritated, Newt whispered back, “You don't have to talk to him for me. Just leave it alone.”

“Go around, Newt.” Percival then ordered, using his dominating tone. Newt cast him a cruel look but ultimately obeyed, splitting from Percival's side to go around the building, headed for the doorway where Roscuro was not currently guarding.

Newt's avoidance didn't go unnoticed. Percival could see Roscuro watching his boy walking away, then snap his attention back to Percival as soon as Newt was out of sight. Percival continued to approach, avoiding Roscuro's stare himself, although he smirked when he heard the guard fall into step behind him as soon as he entered the building.

Together, they walked through the crowded hallway until they reached Percival's less-crowded classroom. Newt taking the long way would give them a few minutes alone, but Percival still planned on making it quick.

The moment the door closed behind Roscuro, Percival was speaking.

“He's quite bitter with you.” He told the man, setting his and Newt's coffee on his desk, then turning to face Roscuro, who stood stiffly beside the door. “Although I agree with him; It was a bold move, vanishing the way you did.” Roscuro lowered his head, ashamed. Percival allowed him a moment to sulk before saying, “But you didn't have much choice, did you?”

Roscuro didn't answer. Percival took it as answer enough. Stepping away from his desk, Percival approached Roscuro with a calm confidence. He drew close to the man, stepping into his personal space, using both hands to cradle Roscuro's masked jaw, tilting his head back up. Roscuro moved with the grace of a jointed doll, breath shuddering quietly.

“I'm an old man, Roscuro,” Percival said in a quiet, purring voice, slipping a thumb along the crease between Roscuro's visor and his mask until he found the latch connecting the two, one set on either side of his face. He unlocked the first and felt Roscuro twitch under his palm. “I have enough experience to know the difference between running away,” He unlocked the other side, and Roscuro's lower-mask fell away. His lips were parted, wet from the humidity of his own breath, “And being unable to return.”

He pressed his thumb to the bottom of Roscuro's lip, his mouth opening just the slightest bit more, red tongue on display. Leaning in, Percival pressed a kiss on his open mouth, slipping past teeth to steal a taste. Roscuro tilted his head in Percival's palm, tongue stroking wetly with a hurried tinge of desperation, hands trembling at his sides. When Percival pulled away, Roscuro had to restrain himself from dragging the man back in, although he stole one last kitten-lick to his top lip, making the man chuckle. With a gentle touch, Percival stroked Roscuro's cheek and said smoothly, “As I thought.”

Handing Roscuro the bottom-half of his mask, Percival told him, “Newt is still young, you know. He's self-conscious and emotionally guided.” Allowing Roscuro to put his mask back into place, Percival advised him, “He needs to be reassured. Do you understand me?”

With his mask back in place, Roscuro gave a brief nod. Percival smirked at him and nodded back, stepping away from the man and dismissing him with, “Go on, then, before Newt arrives. I think you should focus on him for now before you can join us again.”

With an amused grin, Percival watched Roscuro's shoulders deflate. Still, the officer accepted Percival's advise and opened the classroom door. With one last lingering glance, Roscuro left the room, and only a minute later did Newt arrive, still looking disgruntled.

“I swear, Percival, if you threatened him--” Newt started to say, and Percival chuckled delightedly as he made himself comfortable in his seat.

“I've done nothing of the sort,” He said in a voice far too innocent for Newt's comfort, “I merely wanted to find out the truth. He had not been absent willingly.”

Newt rolled his eyes. He all but dropped Percival's classwork on his desk before he plucked his coffee from the table, making his way to his own desk and chair. “So _he_ says,” Newt grumbled bitterly, sipping at his drink.

“Newton.” Percival sighed, but Newt refused to meet his gaze, glaring moodily at his desk, “Just give him a second chance. I'm sure you won't regret it.”

Newt didn't respond, but Percival didn't press him anymore. He had said his piece. Now it was up to Roscuro to bring Newt around. He only hoped that the officer didn't wait too long.

 


	8. The Best Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally we all gasp, more porn.
> 
> Homophobia towards the end tho lol whoops

Roscuro made his move the very next day when Newt was least suspecting it. Roscuro was planning to wait for Newt when he was sent to get himself and Percival lunch from the canteen, and when he saw the redhead trekking the now empty halls in the middle of lunch all by himself, he knew he was not going to get another shot like this in a long while.

Without a second thought, Roscuro approached Newt. The redhead, upon noticing Roscuro's presence, looked like he was about to turn away, but Roscuro snatched him by the arm and forced him into the nearest restroom, despite his reluctant tugs. As soon as the both of them were inside, Roscuro locked the door behind him and finally let go of Newt. He removed the bottom half of his mask in a single smooth motion, letting it hang at the side of his cheek from one of the hinges, and then he was on the other man, grabbing him tight by the front of his shirt, jostling him backwards against the dirty wall, and kissing him firmly, as if trying to relay his own desperation through it.

Newt squirmed in his grasp, an indignant squeal coming from the back of his throat, and he shoved and pushed and swatted at Roscuro's chest, although the officer didn't let up nor did he try to stop him. Roscuro instead cradled Newt's cheek with a hand, his thumb creeping towards the corner of Newt's mouth. Once there, he pressed down, forcing Newt's lips to part just enough for Roscuro to slip his tongue in.

He felt the redhead shudder against him. Felt the way his lips trembled and heard the soft moan trickle from the back of his throat. Roscuro felt warm in his chest, arousal spiking when Newt began to return to hurried kiss, but he was jolted from the pleasure when Newt suddenly stomped his foot down on Roscuro's toes, making the officer jolt backward and clench his jaw tight, fighting the instinctual yelp so he didn't get shocked.

Breathlessly and using the wall to support him more than his own two legs, Newt wheezed out, “You arse! Y-you think you can just—just _kiss_ me like that after what you did?!”

Roscuro chewed on his bottom lip, balancing awkwardly on his uninjured foot while his toes throbbed and ached. Newt licked his own lips, face tinged red with embarrassment, but then he declared, “I-I'm not just going to forgive you for that, you know! You can't just— _disappear_ without a word and then g-grab me right when you come back! I-I know Percival and I said you can join us but—that doesn't turn me into some easy make!”

Slowly, Roscuro's pain seemed insignificant to Newt's own hurt, especially when his eyes grew glossy and his bottom lip began to tremble. In a thick voice, Newt told him, “It _hurt_ , what you did... I-I don't _get_ it. Did I—Was it me?”

Nothing would have made Roscuro want to speak more than seeing Newt look at him then, tears rolling down his cheeks and eyes filled with heartbreak. It physically hurt Roscuro, knowing he couldn't vocalize his apology, and all he could really settle for was a shaky attempt at sign-language, an uncertain action of tracing his closed fist in circles over his chest while he slowly approached. Newt understood easily enough, but he dropped his gaze and let his eyes squeeze shut, a sob pulling from him as more tears fell.

When he was in arm's reach, Roscuro deliberately pulled Newt against his chest, relaxing just a touch when the redhead went willingly. Wrapping his arms around him, Roscuro stroked a comforting hand up and down his back, helping him through the overwhelming emotion, wishing that he could just whisper only once so he could tell Newt that he loved him. Even holding up the sign with one hand seemed unsatisfactory, especially since Newt didn't react overwhelmingly well to it. Instead, he merely smacked Roscuro's hand away and muttered, “Y-you don't have to taunt me like that. I get it, alright? I know what you're doing.”

Newt pulled away from Roscuro, arms crossed tightly over his chest, looking as if he might suddenly be sick. Roscuro could only watch as he took a handful of steps away from him, the reflection of the redhead in the bathroom mirror allowing him to see the waterfall of emotions overtaking his expressions.

“Percival told me, before the break, you approached him. Propositioned him, actually.” Newt didn't lift his gaze, didn't look over his shoulder, didn't turn towards Roscuro at all as he said, “He told me you wanted to sleep with him which was why he invited you in. He said you were interested in me, too, but I know that's not true. People just don't like me.”

Roscuro felt his heart clench and his self-hate swell, but he allowed Newt to continue speaking, even though it felt like a sharp knife in his gut when he said, “You're interested in Percival, fine. You don't have to pretend to like _me_ to get to _him_ , though.”

Unable to express himself, Roscuro stood there, trembling in anger. Newt still didn't look at him, he still didn't turn to see what sort of affect his words might have, but Roscuro was relieved of it because he was certain that he would have looked far too vicious, his teeth gnashing and his fists squeezed so tight his leather gloves creaked. In all his life, Roscuro never felt particularly upset by the situations he found himself in, but at this very moment, he could have cursed every god out there if he thought it would let him speak to Newt just once without the damned collar electrocuting him. He was so angry but there was nothing he could do about it, so desperate without a voice to let it out with. He wanted to reach out and grab Newt, but he feared he might hurt him with how tense his muscles had become. He was scared that he might take the confusion and anger and despair out on the heartbroken man, and even if he thought that it might have been necessary in order to get Newt to _just understand_ , he knew he would never intentionally cause the man harm, because, in the end, he loved Newt just as much as he loved Percival. Even if they couldn't see Credence under this ridiculous guise. Even if they thought him dead and were trying to move on from him with what was essentially his own ghost.

Unable to do much else but stand there silently and quake, Roscuro approached Newt from behind. He didn't put his hands on him, afraid they might grab and twist without his permission. He didn't allow his lips to part or purse, afraid he might accidentally let a shout or scream slip out and shock him. He didn't release a muscle from the restrained tension he kept them under, not wanting to lash out at the nearest thing or do something he might regret. Instead, Roscuro rocked forward on his feet and ducked his head, tucking his forehead against Newt's shoulder, the dark plastic of his upper-mask digging into the skin there. He heard more than felt Newt shudder, and he himself closed his eyes, wishing above all that he could just be suddenly telepathic, that he could somehow convey to Newt without a moment of doubt that he was _his_ just as much as he was Percival's.

He didn't expect his wish to be granted, didn't believe it could have been, anyways, but for a brief moment in the silence, his head on Newt's shoulder, praying, he thought it may as well have been when he felt Newt's warm fingers card through his hair. With that first, comforting stroke, Roscuro felt his entire body go lax without his permission, the rage in him quelling to a gentle simmer, the pain in his heart vanishing with the abruptness of a knotted muscle releasing. When he was certain that his hands would cause Newt no harm, he settled them on the man's hips, first just to touch him, to keep him there, in front of him, and then to guide his arms around his waist, twisting around Newt's thin midsection so that he could pull the man even closer, every last inch between them feeling like a mile.

Newt huffed when he was pulled flat against Roscuro's front, his hand unable to stroke his hair without twisting uncomfortably, so instead it settled overtop Roscuro's arms, stroking him through the padded clothing. His clever fingers ran up and down his forearm, sneaking between the material of Roscuro's glove and sleeve in order to touch skin, and even that innocent stroke made Roscuro tremble.

“I'm sorry,” Newt suddenly whispered, and Roscuro merely turned his head on Newt's shoulder, placing a kiss on his delicate neck. “I shouldn't be so upset with you. _Something_ must have happened... right? That's what Percival said, at least...” Roscuro gave him another kiss, slightly higher, and Newt sighed in his arms.

And then, without much warning, Newt was turning in Roscuro's arms until they were chest to chest. He looked up into Roscuro's visor, trying to meet his eyes although he could barely even see the outline, and he asked so genuinely, “Are you okay, though?” that Roscuro felt he might tear up himself.

He offered Newt a smile, indicating that he was, in fact, just fine, but Newt didn't seem to buy it. He continued to look into his visor, continued to look with his brow furrowed and his bottom lip slightly pursed, and really, Roscuro couldn't _not_ let Newt look at him like that without giving him a soft, appreciative kiss.

This time, he was better received. Newt tilted his head just the slightest amount, allowing their mouths to press together more comfortably. His eyes had slid shut and he nipped almost apologetically at Roscuro's bottom lip, so Roscuro decided to accept it by allowing Newt inside, greeting him with a warm, wet tongue and the slightest suckle.

Newt sighed against Roscuro's mouth, more relaxed, more receptive. They continued to kiss, stroking tongues with a lazy slowness, and Roscuro slowly walked Newt backward until the redhead was pinned to the bathroom sink, backside digging into the metal countertop uncomfortably.

Roscuro's hands dripped down, sliding behind Newt's thighs, and their kiss fell apart when the officer hoisted Newt up onto the counter, being mindful of any wet spots left behind by messy teenagers. With the space between them, Newt looked over Roscuro's face, both the covered and uncovered half. Roscuro fit himself comfortably between Newt's knees, hands settled comfortably on the thickest part of his thighs, and he smiled under Newt's attention.

“Do you... really like me?” Newt suddenly asked, voice quiet and timid, and Roscuro answered with a single, confident nod. “Not just because of Percival, right?”

This time, Roscuro shook his head, the gesture sharp and short. Newt's bottom lip quivered, his eyes looking wet all over again, and Roscuro feared he may have replied incorrectly before Newt was suddenly requesting, “Will you—will you p-prove it?”

Ah. Roscuro didn't need to ask what Newt meant by that. He knew already exactly what Newt wanted, knew exactly how he was supposed to prove his affection. It was his original intent, having Newt here in this bathroom, so he wasn't ill-prepared for it. However, with the rather chaotic spike of emotions between them mere moments ago, Roscuro felt like new approach would be necessary.

Leaning forward, Roscuro placed one soft peck on Newt's lips, his silent affirmation that yes, he will prove it to him, and then he was lowering himself to his knees, his hands on Newt's hips undoing the man's pants and pulling them down with him. Newt propped himself on his hands, allowing the clothing to be coaxed away, not at all flinching when his boxers soon followed. Newt licked his lips almost in tandem with Roscuro, and when the officer went down on him, Newt felt his body jolt with the electric rush of pleasure. Stubbornly, Newt refused to let out a noise, and he locked his jaw shut, lips tucked between teeth as if that could stop the grunts and huffs being squeezed from his lungs.

But Roscuro didn't seem hindered by Newt's silence. Instead, it almost seemed like he took it as a challenge, or maybe Newt was simply reading too far into it. Roscuro knelt there between his legs, his back ramrod straight in order to stay eye-level with Newt's lap, and he gave Newt a quick few slurps, more introductory, as if he were merely reminding Newt that this was his ultimate goal, what he would inevitably be after before he pulled away. Instead of busying his lips and tongue with teasing Newt's sensitive flesh, Roscuro instead gave his attention to Newt's exposed thighs. He ran his gloves up and down Newt's calves while he smooched, nipped, nibbled at his legs, not daring to leave a mark more permanent than the translucent blooms of blush-red left by his teeth.

From where he stayed between Newt's thighs, Roscuro could hear his pulse rise, could hear it in the artery that he lingered above. If he pressed his lips down hard enough, he could feel it as well, thumping in a staccato rhythm.

Newt's head tilted back, the muscles in his throat working as he breathed noisily from his nose. Roscuro watched him from beneath his visor, lips and tongue still working, still admiring the taste of his skin and the sensation of excitement coursing through him. He didn't even have to gaze upon Newt's intimacy to know how aroused he was. He could feel the heat radiating from him anyways.

He moved from one thigh to the other, drawing out his teasing ministrations, ensuring that both thighs received exactly the same amount of attention. He fascinated himself with painting Newt's pale skin that gorgeous blush, looking just the right touch of depraved. He stroked a languid tongue from Newt's knee up his inner thigh, skipping over Newt's arousal so that he could trail back down on the other side. He could feel Newt quivering, could see the muscles jumping underneath his skin, and it only made Roscuro smile.

“S-stop teasing,” Newt finally panted, breaking his silence and allowing his mouth to hang open, “You-you're just making f-fun of me...”

Roscuro grinned at that, unable to help one more indulgent nip at the meat of Newt's thigh, making the redhead jolt and huff. At the look Newt gave him afterward, however, Roscuro decided to move on and returned his attention to where Newt desired him the most.

The head of Newt's cock was already slick, precum breading wetly at the very tip of it, creating balls of lust that Roscuro broke apart with a clever swipe of his tongue. His hands continued to stroke and fondle Newt's thighs while Roscuro massaged the head of Newt's cock with his lips and tongue, coaxing more precum from his body only to steal it greedily, allowing the taste to fill his mouth and coat his tongue, flooding every last taste bud of his with Newt.

“Roscuro,” Newt breathed, dazed blue eyes focused on the masked officer kneeling in front of him. He seemed to be holding back from touching Roscuro himself, his hands clamped tightly on the edge of the counter, knuckles turning a pale white from the strain. Roscuro didn't care either way—he knew Newt's hands would be on him sooner or later.

Glancing at Newt from under his visor, Roscuro watched his face as he finally sunk down around his flesh, lips sealed tight as he took more and more in, stretching only to accommodate Newt's girth. The redhead gasped softly, breath shaking like his thighs, but he didn't take his eyes off of Roscuro, even if his half-lidded gaze didn't seem focused at all. “Wow,” Newt whimpered, even though Roscuro was only halfway down his cock. Still, Roscuro rewarded his quiet praise with a quick suck and a slight twist of his mouth around him, making Newt's hips jolt and buck all the while.

Newt's hands buried in Roscuro's hair, just like he had predicted, and soon that incessant pressure on the back of his head had Roscuro descending even more, not stopping until his nose got in the way, his upper lip being tickled by the wiry copper pubes dusted around Newt's base. Roscuro twisted his mouth again, turning his head this way and that until Newt was beginning to crumble underneath him, breathy whispers of “Roscuro, Roscuro,” coming from the man.

Roscuro didn't think Newt was on the edge. He didn't know the redhead was going to burst until he was, cock twitching and bursting forth release just as Roscuro ran his tongue back and forth against the skin in his mouth. Taken by surprise, Roscuro choked on the sudden influx of come, but he recovered quickly, throat working double-time to coax the rest of Newt's spend down. Breathing heavily from his nose, Roscuro gave a few last sucks, a last swipe of his tongue across the head. He grinned toothily when Newt jolted from over-stimulation, body twisting in a mix of discomfort and stinging pleasure.

When he had pulled off completely, Newt slumped back against the mirror behind him, still breathing heavily. Roscuro slowly got up from his knees, licking his lips to catch the lingering aftertaste, but he didn't take his eyes off the man. As Newt recovered, Roscuro settled between his thighs, hands placed on the counter on either side of Newt's hips. The redhead blinked lazily up at Roscuro, cheeks painted red, and he slowly hooked his legs around Roscuro's body, keeping him there in front of him.

Lifting his hands, Newt cradled Roscuro's cheeks, stroking the exposed skin of his face. Roscuro leaned into the touch, turning his head enough to kiss one of Newt's palms, smiling when the redhead gave a shuddering breath.

“You're not lying, right?” Newt asked him, and Roscuro gave his hand another kiss before he leaned in and kissed Newt on the mouth. After he pulled away, Newt huffed, a touch amused, and mumbled, “Whoever said 'actions speak louder than words' was a lunatic. This is driving me mad. I've never been good at understanding people...”

Roscuro sighed through his nose, pulling his face from Newt's hands so that he could press a series of kisses to the man's neck, trailing along his pulse point, nibbling at the lobe of his ear. From here, he could hear Newt draw breath.

“I just fear that you think ill of me...” Newt tried to explain, voice quiet, but Roscuro had no way of reassuring him other than by his touch, which he gave Newt freely. “That I'm too sensitive.”

Roscuro scraped his teeth along Newt's jawline, making him squirm. His arms looped around Roscuro's shoulders, one hand running through his black hair. Roscuro grabbed Newt's hips and pulled him towards the edge of the counter, exhaling in relief as soon as he felt the sweet press of Newt's heat against his groin. Newt seemed to catch on immediately with the way he rolled his hips, urging Roscuro to grind roughly against him, focusing on his pleasure for the moment.

“Do you want to be in me?” Newt whispered into Roscuro's ear, and Roscuro shuddered at the thought. He didn't try to act on it, however, even when Newt took one of Roscuro's hands and brought it down to his still exposed cock, making Roscuro wrap his fingers around him even though he was no longer hard. “Want to fuck me?”

Breathing heavily, Roscuro kept his hand loose on Newt's dick and merely kept rutting against him, perfectly fine with chasing his pleasure this way. He might look depraved, might look like a damned dog in heat, but he wasn't about to force Newt to do anything just for his sake. Newt frowned when he realized Roscuro wasn't going to bring things further, so he stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. Roscuro leaned away from Newt, breathing hard and looking at Newt silently. The redhead flushed, embarrassed by the sight of Roscuro aroused, and he asked, “C-Can I help, somehow?”

Roscuro took a deep breath, licking his lips slowly, then nodded his head. He took a step back, just to give himself enough space to undo his belt and lower his pants just enough for his erection to spring free. Newt bit his lip upon seeing him, grasping him with a firm grip and giving him a few tentative strokes. As soon as Roscuro let out a luxurious breath, Newt went bright red in the face and gave a nervous sort of laugh.

Covering his face with his free hand, Newt admitted in a shy voice, “Oh, this feels so strange...” Roscuro smirked a little, rocking his hips into Newt's hand, nuzzling his nose and mouth against whatever part of Newt's face he could reach. He managed to move his hand out of the way so he could kiss him fully, licking into his warm mouth with a delighted sigh. As they swapped breath and wet strokes of tongue, Newt tightened his grip on Roscuro's cock, beginning to put a real effort in his actions. He twisted his fist back and forth, squeezed tight as he stroked him fully, taking his time to fondle the weeping head.

Roscuro yanked away with a gasp, panting noisily. His head tilted back and his hips rocked faster, eyes sliding shut underneath his visor. Distantly, he can hear Newt chuckling, and soon the redhead was muttering humorously, “Percival is going to be so mad.”

He leaned in, then, kissing Roscuro just underneath his jaw, scraping his teeth along the visible part of his throat, then sealing his lips there so he could suck a dark bruise into his skin. Roscuro's breath caught, his face twisting in pained restraint while his hips bucked. A high-pitched whine squeezed from his throat, which he clamped down on as quickly as he could. He could hear his collar beep in warning, and with Newt so close, he didn't want to risk it going off lest it shocks the both of them.

With a warm breath, Newt whispered against Roscuro's neck, “You're so pretty like this...” He stroked him just a bit faster, hand slicked by Roscuro's own precum, and he delighted in the sight of the officer shuddering under his touch, “Can't believe I'm going to be the first one to see you come... Percival's going to be so _jealous_.”

A soft, breathy laugh brought Roscuro dangerously close. He could see lights dance distantly behind his eyes, just out of his reach, and he jackrabbited his hips in a desperate attempt to catch them. What ended up bringing him over, though, was Newt pulling back enough for Roscuro to see the side of his face, eyes half-lidded, pupils dilated, and the corner of his lip tugged up in a greedy smirk as he whispered, “I bet he'd snatch you up. Bring you off right in front of me. Show me you're _his_.”

He exploded, holding back a loud cry at the last moment, only allowing a pained gurgle to come through. His collar beeped rapidly, just on the edge of setting off. Newt gasped underneath Roscuro, tugging on him once, twice more, then pulling away entirely.

“Bugger,” He grumbled. Roscuro had to blink himself back into focus before he tilted his head down, blushing when he found Newt's shirt wet with his spend. Rudely, Roscuro pressed his thumb into the mess, rubbing it further into the material, and Newt smacked his hands away with an incessant harrumph. “Bastard!” He chided the officer, swatting him in the shoulder before he shoved him away so he could hop off the counter. He fixed his pants first, then proceeded to tug off his shirt so that he could run it under the tap, trying to work the cum out of it before it dried and stained. Roscuro merely stepped back from him, adjusting his own pants, though he worked slowly. His muscles felt so relaxed now, his heart still pounding pleasantly fast. He reached up to readjust his lower-mask, to cover his face entirely again, but stopped when Newt whispered, “D-don't.”

Looking up, he saw Newt staring at him through the mirror, eyes wide and vulnerable. His cheeks were bright red, but he still requested, “Just... not yet?”

Roscuro smiled, and he let his mask hang. When Newt returned to washing his shirt, Roscuro stepped up behind him and began to kiss his neck and shoulders, admiring the bare skin in front of him. He ran gloved hands around Newt's sides, cupping his stomach, then sliding up to his chest. Newt let him touch silently, focused more on his shirt, and only spoke up after realizing, “Damn. There's no hand dryer.”

Roscuro blinked and looked around himself. There really wasn't, and didn't that just show how much the school cared about their students. They put in so much money for the campus officers and the riot guards during the Thinning, but not into fitting every bathroom with a hand dryer. Newt began to laugh in his arms, and Roscuro looked back at him through the mirror, curious. “You look so angry,” Newt grinned, wringing out his damp shirt to try and coax the excess water out, then he held it up and sighed. “I really don't want to put this on... It's still lunch, right?” He looked at Roscuro, who nodded meekly. “Good. I have a jacket back in Percival's class that I can wear. It'll look odd, but it's better than looking like a drowned rat.”

Roscuro made a face, lips twisted in a cringe, and he placed a rather stubborn kiss on Newt's cheek, making the redhead laugh shyly.

“Ah, stop,” Newt huffed, pushing Roscuro's face away, “You would agree if you caught me wearing it.”

Again, another kiss, and Newt laughed more, his face a bright red. With his soaked shirt grasped in his hands, Newt gave Roscuro one last soft smooch on the lips before whispering, “Come see us sometime soon, yeah? If—If something happens... you'll let us know this time, won't you?”

Roscuro sighed. He really wanted to be able to promise that he would, but he couldn't guarantee that Grindelwald wouldn't pull a similar stunt like before. Seeing Newt looking at him so painfully sad, however, pushed Roscuro to give him a nod. As soon as the redhead was smiling, Roscuro decided to pull his mask back into place.

“I'll see you soon,” Newt whispered, smiling and blushing like a schoolboy with a crush, and he placed one more innocent kiss to Roscuro's mask before skittering away. He quickly made his way down the hall and back to Percival's class, checking down each hall to make sure he wasn't about to get caught shirtless. He was lucky, though, and he made it back to the classroom without a single witness. He closed the door behind him with a blush, grinning when Percival looked up at him curiously. Percival looked him over, eyes running from head to toe, and then he sat up in his seat.

“And the lunch?” He asked, and Newt went absolutely white.

“I—I...” He stuttered, remembering all too late exactly what he had been doing outside of Percival's classroom. He was worried for a second that Percival might get mad at him, but the deep sound of his laughter made Newt relax. “I'm sorry, Percy. I completely forgot...”

“It's alright,” Percival hummed, gesturing openly for Newt to come to him, which the redhead immediately did. Once he was in reach, Percival grabbed him and pulled him down onto his lap, placing a soft kiss on the boy's shoulder before turning his nose towards his neck, taking a whiff. Newt laughed nervously, especially when Percival hummed in desire, “Someone smells like he had a good time.”

“S-sorry,” Newt giggled, blushing once more, but Percival merely nuzzled into his neck more.

“What are you sorry about?” He questioned, giving him a few more kisses, wrapping his arms around his middle.

“For playing around without you,” Newt said, “I know you were worried about him too. I should've said no.”

“Hush,” Percival tutted, kissing Newt's cheek, “I like knowing my partners are enjoying each other. I especially like knowing my partners are happy.” Then he paused and asked, “You _are_ happy, aren't you, Newton?”

Newt considered the question, really considered it, then said softly, “Yeah.... I think I am.”

With a smile, Percival gave him one more kiss and whispered, “Good.”

For the rest of the week, Percival didn't catch Newt without a smile. The redhead was really flourishing now that they had Roscuro, his heartache over losing Credence not completely gone, but glossed over, put on the back burner. Percival didn't dare bring it up, didn't want to draw attention to it at all, lest Newt slip back into his grief. Instead, he talked to Newt about Roscuro, let him whisper his excited little fantasies to Percival in the middle of the night or talk about how Roscuro looked standing at the entrance of the school in his armor and mask—as if it wasn't an ordinary sight. Percival listened to it all with a smile, adoring the way Newt gushed on and on, as if Percival himself couldn't have realized these things about their new lover.

By Friday, Roscuro still hadn't come to them after class, and Newt was beginning to get impatient again. With his impatience came a more bitter personality, less talk about Roscuro, and Percival grew worried. In an attempt to drag out the good feelings, Percival began talking about his own little fantasies.

In the weekend at night, Percival wrapped himself around Newt from behind and whispered filthy things into his ear. Newt would try to fight it. He was stubborn like that, wanted to be mad all he could, but he would end up writhing in Percival's strong arms, hands wrapped tight around his cock, the bed shaking from how desperately he worked himself. He'd moan a mix of Roscuro and Percival's name as he trembled to pieces, the only thing holding him together being Percival. He made a mess of their beds thrice in one night, each time threatening to go to sleep before Percival purred his dirty imagination into Newt's ear. On the third go, Newt tried to physically stop him, covering Percival's mouth with his messy hand, shoving and hitting him on his chest when that didn't stop him, and then feverishly fucking himself on three fingers when he couldn't take it any longer. Percival guided him through it, playing Roscuro's part as much as he was playing his own, letting Newt fall apart one more time against their stomachs.

That Monday, Newt walked into school beside Percival with his face bright red and his head ducked. He clutched his and Percival's lunch bag to his chest and tried to avoid Roscuro's gaze, but the officer stopped them by grabbing Newt's arm and yanking him to a halt. The redhead gasped in shock, blinking up angrily at Roscuro, about to lash out at being manhandled when the officer pointed at the bag.

Surprised, Newt blurted, “What? It's just lunch. Are you _really_ checking faculty now?”

“Just give him the bag, Newton.” Percival sighed, obviously not wanting to stand around any longer, and the Brit gave in with an irritated grunt, shoving the bag into Roscuro's arms.

“Tosser,” He muttered under his breath, and Percival reached out and grabbed Newt by the back of his neck, massaging the tense muscles there until the boy was relaxing. Roscuro didn't react. He merely dug through their lunch as if he was really checking for contraband, and when he found none, he zipped the bag up and handed it back over.

“Thank you,” Percival said genuinely, and then he gave Newt a slight shake before he, too, was muttering, “Thanks.”

Roscuro bobbed his head once, then gestured for them to go inside. Just as they stepped through the doors, the other officer standing there with Roscuro called out, “See you two after school.”

Newt nearly stopped in his tracks if it wasn't for Percival pushing him forward. Percival didn't stop them for even a second until they got to his classroom. Once inside, Newt practically exploded with excitement.

“Do you think he means Roscuro?” Newt asked breathlessly, leaning on Percival's desk while the man finished up some work, “Do you think Roscuro's going to come today? Do you think he'll finally join us?”

“We'll see, Newton,” Percival hummed, a small smile tugging at his lips. Newt all but whined impatiently, and Percival had to hold back a laugh.

“If he _does_ come, _I_ want to kiss him first.” Newt declared with a grin, “And I want to make _him_ come first.”

“Newton Scamander,” Percival chided, although the grin on his lips didn't falter, “ _Disgusting_.”

Newt only giggled, though, not at all intimidated by Percival's words. He gave the man a thrilled little kiss before whispering, “I'll only let you have him when you get _me_ off.”

Growling, Percival said in a low voice, “I can get you off right now, boy. Do you really want me to?”

Newt trembled excitedly, pupils blown and cheeks flushed, his bottom lip being chewed on by his teeth. “We only have fifteen minutes before the bell rings...” He mentioned, _daring_ , “And I know your first period _loves_ to be early.”

“Maybe I'll _love_ to have you under my desk,” Percival smirked, and Newt gasped at him, perfectly scandalized.

“In front of the _children_ , Percival? And you called me disgusting.”

Percival hummed delightedly, then pulled Newt in for a heated kiss before whispering to him, “Look what I've done to you. I've made you selfish, haven't I? Completely spoiled once you come out of your shell, aren't you?”

With one last chuckle, Newt shook his head and said, “Only for you. Promise.”

“Mhm. So I expect you'll be all shy and innocent when Roscuro _does_ come around, will you?”

Newt hesitated, considering it for a long moment before admitting, “Okay, maybe for you _and_ him. We'll see.”

“We will, won't we.” Percival grinned, then he slapped Newt on the thigh and growled, “Get to your desk, boy, before I shove you underneath _mine_.”

With that excited grin back in place, Newt hurried over to his desk and made himself comfortable, so cocky that he even put his feet up on his desk while he turned on his IGlass. He regained his decorum as soon as the students came in, however, sitting properly with his back straight and his eyes on his tablet. The students, thank god, hadn't a clue of what their professor and his TA might be doing for their extracurriculars.

In-between classes, Newt absolutely fidgeted in his seat and complained about the wait. Percival found him completely endearing, but he knew his nerves would only get worse the longer he waited. “Do you want to go take a walk?” Percival asked between third and fourth period, and Newt gave him the most pitiful look he could muster.

“I want to go for a wank,” He huffed, keeping his voice low in case a student wandered in early, “But I'm worried that if I do, I won't want to do anything else afterward.”

“Don't be silly. You're barely eighteen. You have more hormones packed in you than the faculty combined.” Percival reassured him, a small smile on his lips. Then, to give Newt a little more incentive, he leaned in and whispered to him, “Why don't you go and give yourself some relief, hmm? Take your tablet with you and record it. We can sneak it to Roscuro for him to watch later. Would you like that?”

Newt answered by scrambling to grab his IGlass and getting to his feet, face flushed and heart pounding so loud Percival thought he could hear it. Just as Newt scurried out of the classroom, Percival called out after him, “Take your time, Newton,” And soon after, students began to wander in. They were curious about Newt's whereabouts, but none of them cared enough to ask. They merely came in, took their seats, and upon the ring of the bell, they focused on Percival and his lecture.

But now that Newt was off to take care of his arousal, Percival found his own mind wandering. What was Newt doing right now? Was he really taking his time like Percival told him to, or was he already shoving a finger or two into himself, bringing himself off in the most debased way? Would he really want to go through with showing Percival and then Roscuro the video, or would he delete it immediately after from embarrassment?

And then he was wondering what _Roscuro_ would do. Maybe he'd take it to wherever the officers went at night and watch it, bringing himself off to Newt's video in private. Or maybe he slept in bunks like they did in the army, and would have to hide himself and the tablet under his blankets while he watched. Maybe he would get so turned on that he just couldn't keep his hands away from himself. Or maybe he'd let it all build up inside of him, only to snap the next day when he saw Newt. Maybe he'd barge into the classroom before first period or during lunch, throw Newt over the nearest flat surface and go right to town on him. Percival smirked. He would just sit back at his desk and watch Newt squirm.

He let out a long sigh, and then jolted back to reality when one of his students called out timidly, “Prof. Graves?”

“What?” He blurted, blinking back to his classroom, feeling his face burn in an unfamiliar way when he realized he was just _daydreaming_. In the middle of _his own class._ His students, damn them, began to laugh.

“Feeling tired, Professor?” One of them teased, and Percival glowered at them, but that only made them laugh harder. “Had a long night grading papers?”

“I don't have to grade anything if I plan on failing you all anyways.” He threatened, but nothing was going to get his students under control now. All they needed was a little kindling and they could start a whole fire.

“I bet his wife likes to keep him up at night,” One of the girls claimed, a few others wolf-whistling in agreement, “Man like Prof. Graves _has_ to have a pretty little thing on his arm.”

“Let's _not_ talk about my social life, please,” Percival groused, and now the boys began to laugh.

“The only thing Prof. Graves has hanging off his arm is his work!” One shouted, a few of the girls huffing and clicking their tongues.

“Do you see a ring on his finger? I didn't think so.” Another young man pointed out.

“That only means he's not married, not that he's single,” One girl huffed, only to then grin and say salaciously, “Unless.... _are_ you single, Prof. Graves? Because I might know a... _friend_ of mine that has a thing for older men.”

“Disgusting,” Percival huffed, rolling his eyes a tad dramatically, “You're a minor, Tracy. Not only is that illegal, but it's absolutely inappropriate. We're here to talk about _science_ , not my personal life.”

“ _You're_ the one who drifted off mid-sentence!” Another student taunted, looking completely delighted, “So what was it, then? What got the professor so distracted today?”

“I'm _telling_ you, he has a girlfriend if not a wife!” One of the girls claimed.

“She's gotta be young though if she's keeping this old man up at night,” One guy snorted, leaning back in his seat, “Or he's gotta be packing that Viagra.”

“Enough!” Percival shouted, slamming a fist on the table, “You want to know what I was thinking about? Fine!” The classroom door opened, but Percival was already yelling, “I was thinking about my damned boyfriend, you miscreants! The only damned reason I don't have a ring on my finger is because it's still _fucking_ illegal to be gay in this god damned country! If it wasn't for your homophobic government and your stupid _fucking_ Thinning singling out anyone with any individuality left in their bleached out minds, I could have been married _ages_ ago!”

The whole classroom was blessedly silent, save for the ragged breathing from Percival himself. He was still seeing red, he was still so irate from these damned kids that he didn't notice the newcomers until a slow clap shocked him back into reality.

Everyone jerked around to see just who it was, and Percival felt his blood run cold. He stood up straight, cleared his throat, then uttered, “W-We should get back on topic, everybody.”

“Oh, please,” Grindelwald grinned, flanked by Roscuro and two other officers, both of whom had their hands clasped tightly on their nightsticks. Roscuro was the only one with both hands free. “ _Do_ continue your little tirade, Mr. Graves. Don't stop on my account.”

Percival cleared his throat again but didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he grabbed his teacher's edition textbook and picked the first paragraph he saw, reading from it diligently. The students quickly ducked their heads, following along silently, trying not to arouse suspicion themselves. Grindelwald watched on, his smile twisting into a scowl, and he said loud enough to talk over Graves, “The Government is doing their best to ensure America's future is bright and productive.” Percival fell silent, and again, the class was turning their heads to give Grindelwald their attention. The man made his way to the front of the classroom, Roscuro and the two others following him dutifully, and Grindelwald faced the students, “If it weren't for the Thinning, our country would be overrun by simpletons. Our streets would be lined with the impoverished and homeless. We wouldn't have the right men and women to fill positions in STEM fields. America would fall apart, with too many waifs demanding hand-outs and too many whores popping out more retarded fucking children.”

Facing Percival, Grindelwald spat out, “And if _your_ kind had their way, you'd brainwash our youth to follow your homosexual lifestyles. You'd turn every one of these innocent young men and women into filthy fucking faggots. I bet this is the sort you target anyways, isn't it? The young sort? Do little boys get you off, Professor?”

Percival bit his lip, jaw clenched tight, and fought every fiber of his being not to clock the man in his face. He wanted to spit at Grindelwald, call him out on his bullshit, easily remembering that this hypocrite had blackmailed his Credence into having sex with him before. He wanted to call him out on it, but there was no way he'd be able to, not without bringing suspicion on himself.

In the end, the one to stop Grindelwald's tirade was Roscuro, who approached him from behind and put a hand on his shoulder, urging him away from Percival. The man flinched at first, looking ready to lash out at his officer just for touching him, but seemed to remember his place and decided he had done enough. Turning away from Percival, Grindelwald announced, “Calling out your pansy professor was not my original intent when I came into this classroom, however. I've come to announce--”

The door opened once again and Percival felt his heart skip when Newt clamored in, face flushed and hair a bit sweaty. He startled at the sight of Grindelwald and his men, nearly dropping his IGlass in the meantime. Grindelwald and his officers all stared up at him, along with the rest of the class, and Newt nervously cleared his throat, ducked his head, and hurried over to his desk, sinking down into his seat and remaining quiet. Grindelwald eyed him for a bit longer, but eventually cleared his throat and turned back, saying, “Anyway,”

“I've come to announce that, until further notice, we will be stationing an officer in each classroom for supervision.” Immediately, the students shouted their displeasure, a few of them rattling their seats as they threw themselves back in their chairs. Grindelwald's lips pinched, and with a snap of his fingers, the officers—excluding Roscuro—tugged out their batons and extended them with a flick of their wrists, the ominous crack of the steel rod extending silencing the youth in mere seconds. Roscuro jumped where he stood, looking from one officer to the other in surprise. Without a word, he reached out and tugged at Grindelwald's arm, but Grindelwald smacked his hand off of him with no remorse.

Speaking loudly, Grindelwald explained, “This is for the safety of yourselves and the faculty. Until we find out which one of you ungrateful brats set this school on fire, we'll be taking precautions in order to keep it from happening a second time.” He waited for a second longer, just daring the students to speak up again, and when they remained silent, he gestured to his officers, “Bennett. Clarke. You're both staying here.”

“I thought you said _one_ officer,” Percival said, but Grindelwald merely sneered at him.

“After your little 'gay agenda' tirade, you're lucky I'm not stationing _more_ in your class.” He spat out, and Percival bit his tongue, knowing it was pointless to argue.

But Newt, poor boy, did not. “Gay agenda?” He questioned, lifting his head, “I-I'm sorry, are we back in the bloody twenty-first century?”

Rolling his eyes, Grindelwald said in a lazy tone, “You may not recall, Mr. Scamander, but homosexuality is illegal in America. Or letting them marry is, at least. Lord knows we could reach our five percent faster if we killed them all off.”

Newt blinked, just once, and then burst into laughter. Percival cringed and dropped his head. Grindelwald looked absolutely affronted, but Newt wasn't about to let this go.

“I'm—I'm sorry, did you just imply that you wanted to kill off homosexual individuals? As in men and women like yourself?”

“Newt,” Percival warned, but now the students were whispering and Grindelwald's wide-eyed stare only fed the fire.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Grindelwald, _sir_ , but I seem to recall a certain campus officer _blackmailing_ a student—a _male_ student nonetheless—into giving him a half-assed blowjob in the security office!”

A series of shocked 'ooh!'s echoed through the class so quickly that Percival nearly missed the way Roscuro snorted back a laugh, hand coming up to cover the front of his mask.

“You're deranged if you think I would do something like that!” Grindelwald snarled, and Newt threw his hands up in surrender, although his sarcastic tone was anything but apologetic.

“You're right, Mr. Grindelwald. I must have imagined the whole thing. It's not like you threatened to fail the both of us on the Thinning if he didn't comply--”

“Newton,” Percival hissed out.

“And it's not like I was nearly marched to my death _anyway_!”

“You piece of shit,” Grindelwald spat.

“If there's anyone with an agenda in this classroom, Mr. Grindelwald, it's _you_. You and your crooked officers!”

Even Roscuro was lifting his hands, trying to get Newt to settle down, but the man was on a roll now.

“Your Thinning is nothing but America picking and choosing who they want to stay alive! The only similarity those who fail the Thinning have aren't their lack of intelligence, but their lack of support for their shite government!”

Gritting his teeth, Grindelwald uttered, “It looks like you and your boss share very similar ideals, don't you? Maybe I should be looking into the faculty after all. I wouldn't be surprised if one of you radicals were the ones to start the fire.”

Keeping his ground, Newt declared, “Protesting your government is what Americans are about, and I will gladly partake in a peaceful protest myself, as is my _right_ now that I am, too, American, but I will _never_ condone the violence and anger displayed in that fire.”

“Easy to say.” Grindelwald hummed, lifting his brows, “But hard to prove.”

“I don't need to prove my innocence,” Newt stated firmly.

“No, but it's far easier to prove someone guilty when you're in control of the cameras.” Grindelwald threatened.

“Then look at your bloody cameras. You'll find no record of me anywhere near that fire.” Newt huffed, “And when you're done trying to drag me through the mud, you can come back and apologize. Both to myself _and_ to Mr. Graves.” He paused long enough to allow Grindelwald to speak, but when the officer didn't, Newt merely gave a firm nod, took a deep breath, then said, “Now please, station your _one_ officer and get out of the classroom. Y-you are disrupting the lesson.”

Grinding his teeth so hard the entire class could hear it, Grindelwald ended up muttering, “Clarke. Stand guard. And be vigilant,” before he turned and marched out of the room, Bennett following closely after. Roscuro took a few hesitant steps, eyes glued on Newt. Newt anxiously glanced up at him, hands trembling at his sides.

“Roscuro! Let's go!” Grindelwald barked, and Roscuro took a few more steps backward before offering Newt a supportive thumbs-up.

Clarke took her spot at the back of the classroom. The students all remained silent. Percival waited a few more moments after the door closed, then resumed reading from the textbook, his lesson thrown out the window as well as the classroom's attention. Newt sank down into his chair, running his hands over his face in exhaustion. God, he was really sticking his neck out there, wasn't he? He could hardly believe what he had done... but it was for Percival and, in a way, for Credence.

Besides, who did Grindelwald think he was, threatening his partner like that? Saying he wanted to kill off homosexuals when he, himself, was one? It was just... stupid.

 


	9. Climax (?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I believe we have reached the beginning of the end for this fic!

When the bell rang, signaling the start of lunch, Clarke left his post as the students began to pack their things together. Newt remained in his seat, arms crossed and a frown set firm on his face, and he only startled to attention when one of the students called out, “Mr. Scamander?”

Looking up, he found the entire class standing in front of his desk, crowding around him, and he suddenly felt overwhelmed. Percival, standing behind his own desk, looked on with a small smile, a fond look in his eyes.

“Er... Yes?” He asked, shoulders lifting to his ears.

All at once, the students exploded into praise.

“That was amazing! You just stood up to _Grindelwald_!”

“Were you being serious about the protest thing?”

“Protests? I want to know if he was serious about Grindelwald propositioning a _student_! Imagine the headlines!”

“Did you actually set the fire?”

“Just to let you know, my parents are all for gay marriage.”

“You're really brave, Mr. Scamander! I wish I had half the balls that you do!”

“I've never seen Grindelwald that mad before! You really showed him what for!”

“I thought you were going to throw down for a minute!”

“You've got to be an officer in disguise, the way you handled that was awesome!”

“Alright, alright,” Percival thankfully stepped in, waving the kids away, “Give him a little space. You're scaring him, now.”

And Newt definitely was a bit scared, if not overwhelmed by the sheer gratitude these students were showing him. As Percival got them to thin out, one girl, in particular, approached Newt, going so far as to take his hand and give it a firm shake.

“I heard you stood up to Roscuro before, that day he intervened in that fight. If you didn't do it, no one would have.”

“O-Oh...” Newt breathed, staring up at her in amazement. That felt so long ago, Newt barely even remembered it. “I-I'm sure any one of you would have.”

“With our lives on the line?” She smiled sadly, then shook her head, “I'm not the only one who appreciates what you've done. Thank you.”

Without anything more to say, the girl let go of Newt and left, the last to vacate the room. Percival watched with his hands tucked into his pockets, then looked back at Newt with a smile.

“Don't,” Newt warned, but it was too late.

“My little anarchist,” Percival cooed, approaching Newt's desk and pinching his cheek playfully, “You're so sexy when you're dismantling the government one asshole at a time.”

Groaning loudly, Newt dropped his head onto his desk and whined, mumbling into his arms, “I've never felt so stupid! Grindelwald already has it out for me! I'm just making him hate me more!”

“Then it's good that he can't legally touch you,” Percival stated, running his fingers through Newt's hair to soothe him, “None of his pigs can unless they want a lawsuit on their hands.”

Newt snorted, then, and he peeked up from under his arms to say, “They _already_ have a lawsuit on their hands if they find out what we've been doing with one officer in particular.”

“Well can they blame him?” Percival chuckled, “A hot piece of activist ass like you flaunting around so noisily? It's a wonder he can keep his hands _off_ you.”

Laughing, Newt buried his face in his arms again and muttered, “Stop it.” Then, remembering why he even had to speak up in the first place, Newt peeked up and asked, “Are _you_ okay? It sounded like something had happened before I came in.”

Percival frowned, looking embarrassed, then explained, “I sort of lost myself in the middle of class to my own thoughts. The class decided to mock me and I ended up preaching about homophobia and rights and all that.” Sighing, Percival ran a hand down his face, and admitted, “It was juvenile of me. I shouldn't have snapped.”

“I guess Grindelwald heard it, huh?” Newt guessed, frowning himself.

“Yeah. Caught the tail-end of it.” Percival grunted, shaking his head, “Again. Juvenile.”

Newt smiled a little, then stood up and squeezed himself between Percival and his desk, saying softly, “I wish I was there to hear it. I bet you get really s-sexy when you're passionate.”

“Passionate,” Percival scoffed, putting his hands on Newt's waist and keeping their bodies flush, “I wasn't passionate—I was angry. Nothing attractive about that.”

“Hmm. Eye of the beholder and such,” Newt said dismissively, leaning up for a kiss. Then, playfully, Newt said, “Well, since we've both put ourselves on death row via Grindelwald, what shall we do with our final hours?”

“Grindelwald isn't going to kill us,” Percival chuckled, “Much less in _hours_. If he even tries to touch you, I'll catch him right in his stupid 'stache.”

“Ooh, get angry for me,” Newt teased, lifting himself to sit on his desk, feet swinging happily, “Tell me what other _filthy_ things you'll do to him.”

Laughing, Percival uttered, “Gross, Newton.” He leaned down to give the boy another kiss, and it was just in the middle of it did the classroom door burst open.

Percival startled backward and Newt hopped to his feet, both of them bright red and wide-eyed from being caught, but when they looked at the intruder they only found a rather breathless looking Roscuro, already shoving the door shut and locking it with one hand while the other fiddled with his lower-mask.

“R-Roscuro?” Newt squawked when the officer began to approach him, and Percival had half a mind to intervene just as the man grabbed Newt and kissed him roughly. Newt squealed against Roscuro's mouth, pleasantly surprised, and he slowly began to kiss him back, mouth falling slack as Roscuro forced his way in. Percival crossed his arms and watched with a smile, enjoying the wet, slick noises coming from his boys, accompanied by soft gasps and whines from the redhead.

As soon as the two broke apart, Percival declared, “I told you it was sexy,” which Newt replied to with an embarrassed groan. Holding Roscuro close by the straps of his bullet-proof vest, Newt tucked his head against his shoulder.

“He won't stop teasing me!” Newt complained, blushing when Roscuro wrapped his arms around him almost protectively. When Percival burst into laughter, Newt peeked up to see Roscuro bravely flipping the man the bird, promptly followed by the officer grabbing Percival by his front and yanking him into a kiss. Now it was Newt's turn to watch in a daze as Percival and Roscuro locked lips, biting down on his lip when he spied Percival's tongue press past Roscuro's teeth.

Flushing red, Newt whispered, “I-I really do have a lot of hormones...” and Percival broke away with a sharp laugh.

“Don't get too excited,” He chided, looking down fondly at Newt, “I don't think our friend here can stay for long, can he?”

Roscuro absolutely pouted as he shook his head, already beginning to pull away from them, looking for all the world like it was hurting him to do so. Newt desperately asked, “But you're coming back after school, right? W-we can—We'll see you later today, right?”

Smiling this time, Roscuro gave a firm nod, and Newt could barely restrain himself, he was so excited. He wanted to leave Roscuro with something sexy, something to get him excited about coming back, but of course, Percival had to ruin it by saying, “Newt's already jacked off once today in anticipation for later. Now he's going to be absolutely insatiable.”

“Percival!” Newt shouted, burning bright red.

“What? It's true. That's where he was during Grindelwald's little tirade; Tucked safely in the bathroom, fucking himself to the thought of you.”

Roscuro bared his teeth, looking even more pained, though he still backed away from them. In one last gesture, Roscuro pointed directly at Newt, almost threateningly. Newt sat stiff, breath caught, and was already whispering, “A-anything—Anything you want. I'm y-yours.”

Roscuro gave a heavy breath, then nodded and left the class, every muscle in him tense. As soon as he left, Newt was turning his desperate little doe-eyes on Percival, and the man could do nothing but roll his eyes and say, “Pants off. I'll take care of it for you.”

“I love you, Percy,” Newt gasped as he tugged open his jeans, and the man merely huffed in amusement before he lowered himself to his knees in front of Newt, mostly obscured by the desk.

Barely ten minutes later marked the second time Newt came in anticipation for Roscuro's arrival later, and while Newt sat boneless in his chair, still trying to catch his breath and regain his composure, Percival sat behind his desk, eating his lunch with a smirk on his face. Newt struggled to even pull his pants straight, much less blather out, “How do you st-stay so calm?”

“Simple. I'm in my thirties. Much more time to get all of this,” He gestured to his own lap, “Under control.”

“Wanker,” Newt huffed fondly, running his hands through his sweaty hair, “I-I bet Roscuro and I c-could get you just as w-worked up.”

“Hm. Maybe you can try when you're a little less worked up yourself,” Percival teased, eyeing the boy smugly, “The moment Roscuro steps in this classroom, you're going to have your hands all over him. I bet you.”

Newt huffed again, shaking his head weakly, but ultimately admitting, “I feel bloody exhausted already. It'll be a miracle if I can even get up for him.”

“I'm sure you'll do just fine.” Percival cackled, holding out Newt's own lunch, “Eat up. I don't want you complaining during fifth period that you're hungry.”

Shortly before lunch ended, Clarke reentered the classroom and took her position at the back of the room. However, mere moments later, another officer was stepping inside, approaching Clarke and sharing some quiet words with her. Newt and Percival watched quietly, trying not to look suspicious, but when Clarke stepped out of the classroom and was replaced by the new officer, Newt and Percival couldn't help but share a look.

They didn't have time to consider it, though. The bell rang and students began to file in, one by one. They would just have to ignore the change out and focus on the lesson. The students all seemed shaken by the sight of the officer, but none of them made a comment, wisely enough. Percival deigned not to mention it either, not wanting to give Grindelwald the satisfaction of knowing that he was intimidating everyone, not just the students. The lesson dragged on slowly, everyone hyper-aware of the officer in the back of the room, flinching whenever she made a noise loud enough to be heard at the front of the class.

Luckily, nothing big happened. The officer remained in her place for the remaining two periods, and when the bell rang for the end of the school day, she followed the students out of the classroom, leaving Newt and Percival to themselves.

Percival began tucking his things away, wanting to keep his hands busy, and he asked Newt, “Well? Still feeling exhausted?”

Newt shifted in his seat, cheeks flushed, and he shyly shook his head no. Percival chuckled, distantly jealous of his youth, and he said, “Shouldn't be long now. Although I'm curious, did you end up recording yourself earlier?”

Blushing even brighter, Newt bobbed his head up and down, whispering, “I did. It was very embarrassing, by the way.”

“I'm certain,” Percival drawled, disbelieving, and he dug through his drawers until he found a USB. He tossed it to Newt, who caught it with surprising skill. “Save the video on that. We'll give it to him after.”

“O-Okay,” Newt mumbled, plucking the USB into the proper port on his tablet and tapping away on the screen. When he dragged the video over, he huffed and set the tablet down, “It's transferring. God—what if it gets into the wrong hands, Percival? What if—What if Roscuro _shares_ it?”

“He won't.” Percival sighed, going over to Newt and giving him a kiss on his forehead, “You can't think like that, Newt. Especially with your partners. You have to trust him, just a little.”

Frowning, Newt admitted, “It's hard to. Especially for—for me.”

“I know.” Percival hummed, kissing him again, “I promise you, nothing will happen. If you can't trust him, then trust me.”

With a deep breath, Newt mumbled, “Okay. I trust you.”

“Good.” Percival smiled, just as the classroom door opened. Peeking over his shoulder to ensure it was Roscuro, Percival said pleasantly, “Well, it looks like the wait is over.” Roscuro closed and locked the door, taking his time compared to the frenzy he had shown earlier, and he completely undid his lower-mask, tossing it onto one of the desks as he made his way towards them. “Welcome back.”

Roscuro barely nodded his head in greeting before he was approaching Newt, cornering the redhead against his desk. Newt gave a shuddering gasp, eyes wide and vulnerable, but with the first kiss, he was already melting. Sighing pleasantly, Newt allowed Roscuro to pick him up and slide him onto the desk, kissing him deeply, distracting him with the rough caress of his tongue while he tugged Newt's clothes open. Newt whined against his lips, barely lifting his hips to allow Roscuro to yank off his pants, and then he broke away with a grunt when Roscuro started to tug off his shirt, pulling it off over his head. Percival paced around them, eyes dark as he took in Newt's exposed body against Roscuro's completely covered form. When Roscuro grabbed Newt by the wrists and pulled him up from the desk, just to spin him around and bend him over it, Percival all but grinned. Newt's face was completely flushed, his own eyes heavy and dilated, and he barely looked up at Percival before he reached out to him, drawing the man in with a simple beckoning hand.

Percival approached from the other side of the desk, brushing his hand against Newt's cheek, then sliding his thumb past the panting boy's lips. He watched as Roscuro dropped down behind Newt, his face vanishing between Newt's thighs, and the redhead jolted with a muffled moan, eyes sliding shut.

“Feel good?” Percival hummed, allowing Newt to seal his lips completely around Percival's thumb, sucking on it while he rocked his hips backward against Roscuro's face. “You look gorgeous from here."

Roscuro pulled back from Newt's backside with a huff, then scraped his teeth roughly against the skin of his ass before he dove back in, one of his hands dipping down to press inside. Percival ran his tongue along his bottom lip, pressing down on Newt's tongue to force his jaw open. Newt's hands fumbled along the edge of the desk, then eventually made their way to Percival's pants. He tugged the front of them open, panting heavily as he yanked them open, and as soon as he had Percival's cock out, he pulled back from Percival's thumb and did all he could to get his erection into his mouth. Percival laughed at his attempts, but he remained just barely out of reach, forcing the boy to jut out his tongue as he tried to nab a taste. Newt whimpered and whined, tugging fitfully at Percival's pants, but when the man refused to budge he shoved him back and whined out, “Percival! Please!”

“Ah, ah, don't be impatient.” Percival tutted, pulling further back from him despite Newt's desperate protests. Still, he was rocking backward against Roscuro's face and hand. “I want to see Roscuro fuck you.”

At that, Roscuro's head jolted up, and Newt slumped against the table with a sob, his hips trembling from the lack of stimulation. Roscuro seemed to be looking at Percival, mouth sloppy with his own saliva after eating Newt out, and Percival grinned before saying, “Come on, don't tell me you don't want to. Get your pants off and fuck him.”

Not needing to be told a third time, Roscuro scrambled to his feet and started fumbling with his belt and pants. Newt, still breathing heavily, peered over his shoulder to watch Roscuro pull himself out, and he mumbled, “Th-there's lube in the d-drawer. Third fro-from the b-bottom.”

Wiping his mouth clean with one hand, Roscuro dug through Newt's drawers haphazardly, making the contents rattle noisily as he hunted for the bottle of lubricant. As soon as he discovered it, he nearly dropped it in his haste to pop it open.

“Take it easy,” Percival laughed, walking back around the table, giving himself a few strokes as he found himself the best spot to watch from. “He's come twice for you, Roscuro. Make it worthwhile.”

Breathing hard as if he had been running for twenty minutes, Roscuro uncapped the bottle and poured over Newt's ass with shaking hands. He rubbed the lubricant around with one hand, spreading the glistening liquid around until his entire backside was wet. Newt trembled, his arms crossed under his chin, watching over his shoulder with a blush. Roscuro pressed in a thumb all the way to the second number, pulled it back out, then slid in two fingers, working them to the knuckle before twisting clockwise.

“God,” Newt gasped, his knees knocking together. Roscuro swallowed thickly, taking his time to make sure the man was stretched, then he pulled his fingers out, grabbed one of Newt's ankles, and flipped the redhead over so quick he couldn't help the startled shout.

Laying completely on his desk, now, Roscuro shoved Newt's legs apart, slotted himself right in between, then shoved himself impatiently into Newt's body, making the redhead shout and squirm underneath him, gripping the desk with one hand and clinging to Roscuro's vest strap with the other. As Roscuro sank further and further into him, Newt let out a progressively higher-pitched whine, his thighs absolutely trembling as his body was breached.

The second Roscuro was fully seated in him, Newt all but collapsed against the table, ankles crossing behind Roscuro's back with his knees clutching his waist tightly. Roscuro ran his hands up and down Newt's thighs, trying to soothe the tremors from them, watching quietly as Newt's head lulled from side to side.

“Tell him what you want,” Percival ordered in a rough voice, fondling himself slowly, keeping the pleasure a constant buzz underneath his skin without taking it too far too quickly. Newt whimpered, running a hand down his body, grasping himself and squeezing around the base before letting go and running his hand back up to his chest.

Roscuro gripped Newt's thighs tightly, breathing raggedly as Newt felt himself up, his body fluttering warmly around him.

“Newton,” Percival tutted, tired of waiting, but the redhead was lost to the world, fondling and flicking at his nipple, squeezing down rhythmically around Roscuro. His head dropped to the side, eyes sliding shut, and a thick line of drool spilled from the corner of his mouth.

“Scamander,” Percival huffed, letting go of himself and furrowing his brows. When Newt _still_ didn't respond, Percival looked at Roscuro and commanded him, “Fuck him roughly.”

Unlike Newt, Roscuro was ready to listen, and he didn't even have to give a nod before he obeyed. Holding Newt in place by his waist, Roscuro planted his feet firmly and, without a warning or giving Newt a moment to comprehend what was happening, Roscuro pulled back and began a violent pace, slamming Newt so hard that the redhead threw his head back with a shrill cry, his body twisting and jolting as he tried to adjust. When he could worm his way out of Roscuro's steel grip, he scrabbled at Roscuro's arms instead, clawing at the padded sleeves as he tried to ground himself. His back arched beautifully against the table, tears spilling from his eyes and more spittle dripping along his agape mouth.

“Stop,” Percival demanded, and with a few final, stuttering jolts, Roscuro managed to come to a complete halt, though his muscles shook and his hands squeezed down on Newt's body. The redhead dropped back down on the desk, gasping for breath and nearly vibrating apart. Percival approached the two of them, running an approving hand through Roscuro's hair, then asked Newt, “Are you listening now?”

Immediately, Newt nodded his head with a vigor. Percival smirked and asked, “Did you like it rough?” Again, another impatient nod. “Tell Roscuro you want it rough.”

Newt whimpered and jerked stubbornly against the table. Percival approached him, standing opposite to Roscuro—who looked ready to snap himself—and he cradled Newt's head with both hands, tilting it back until the boy was looking at him. “Newton,” He said in his rough voice. Newt blinked up at him through his tears, jaw clenching tight, “Tell him.”

With a shaking gasp, Newt looked back at Roscuro. His cheeks were burning, his heart racing in embarrassment, but he managed to blurt, “I-I want it r-rough...”

“Say 'please,'” Percival coaxed, earning another pitiful whimper from his boy, but he obeyed without hesitation this time.

“P- _Please_...” He begged, breaking off into a moan when Roscuro began to grind his hips against Newt's ass, unable to hold still any longer. The pleasure was dull, however, and Newt's legs clamped down on him like a vice, panting out, “Y-yes, more, please!”

“Tell him to fuck you,” Percival purred, and Newt barely waited a second before he cried out the words.

“Fuck me! Please, _God_ , Ro-Roscuro, _fuck me-e-e!”_ He pleaded desperately, and with a brief nod from Percival, Roscuro pulled Newt close and resumed his brutal pace. Newt shouted in delight, his voice bouncing with each vicious thrust Roscuro gave. With one hand holding onto the desk, Newt threw his other hand backward, catching Percival by his shirt and twisting it in his grip. Percival grinned and ran his hand soothingly over Newt's chest, flirting along his nipples, making his body tremble. He peered up at Roscuro, watching the way he bared his teeth, the way sweat rolled down his jaw, the way his nails dug into Newt's skin, leaving bright red lines trailing jagged down his sides.

“Do you like how my boy feels?” Percival purred, and Roscuro dropped his head forward, mouth hanging open, although nothing louder than his panting breath came. “Do you like how he looks? How he sounds?”

Newt wailed, turning his head in an attempt to hide it against his lifted arm, and Percival stroked a thumb down the pounding vein in his neck. “You're certainly being greedy with him, aren't you?” Percival teased, “Maybe I should make you stop, show you how to _really_ fuck him.”

With a growl, as possessive as it is seductive, Roscuro slammed a hand down on the desk beside Newt's body, arching over him like some feral beast. His hips stuttered to a halt, more interested in protecting his keep than fucking, even though Newt all but wept in distress. He tugged at Roscuro with his thighs, then at Percival with his hand, and he begged anxiously, “Please, please, Percy, Please!”

“Shh,” Percival cooed, stroking his neck again, and Newt gave a shuddering breath as more tears spilled over. Looking back at Roscuro, he suggested, "Maybe I should fuck him through you, then."

He hummed, delighting in the way Roscuro's aggressive stance relaxed. “Oh, you like that idea, don't you?” Percival teased. Roscuro arched over Newt more, resting his elbows on the desk, far more submissive than he had been before. Newt, meanwhile, was soothed by the warmth of Roscuro's clothed body, and he let go of Percival so that he could wrap his arms around Roscuro's shoulders. Roscuro glanced at Newt when his thin fingers ran through raven hair, and then he dipped his head to place a soft kiss to the center of his chest, urging a soft giggle from the man.

Roscuro reached one hand up to wipe away a few tears from Newt's face, and the redhead sighed pleasantly at his touch. “I swear these are good tears,” He told the officer in a trembling, wrecked voice, barely paying attention to Percival as he made his way behind Roscuro, already pouring lubricant into one hand while he tugged Roscuro's pants lower. The officer set his feet further apart, ducking his head to place a few more soft kisses on Newt's chest.

When Percival entered him with a finger, Roscuro took a long breath, tucking his nose against Newt's body. Newt continued to run his fingers through Roscuro's hair, cooing at him and whispering sweet nothings, coaxing him through the breach. “Breathe, love. Nice and deep,” Newt guided him, keeping his touches light, not wanting to overwhelm the man.

A second finger had Roscuro shaking. He bit down on his bottom lip to suppress the plethora of noises that pulled at his throat. He focused on Newt's hands, on the heat of his body still wrapped around him, on the way his thighs stretched not only to accommodate him but Percival as well. He could feel Newt fluttering around him, trying to distract him, and Roscuro sighed in pleasure.

Percival was working his fingers within Roscuro slowly, taking care to stretch him, to make sure the lubricant reached as deep inside of him as Percival's thick fingers could allow. It was that familiar intimacy, that care that made Roscuro buck, which only made Newt gasp in surprise and Percival chuckle. “Slowly, slowly,” Percival reminded him, pulling his fingers from his body just to replace it with the blunt head of his cock.

As he pushed inside, Roscuro rolled his hips forward. Newt moaned softly and pushed back down, his hands stilling in Roscuro's hair. Percival wrapped a hand around Roscuro's hip, keeping him steady so that he could slide in. His other hand trailed up Roscuro's spine, fingers curling around the collar of the vest for a good grip.

The press of Percival's hips was a relief. Roscuro wouldn't have to suffer alone much longer, standing still between his lovers. Tucking his cheek against Newt's chest, listening to his racing heart, Roscuro rolled his hips between the two men, just testing out the waters. Percival gripped the back of his vest a touch tighter while Newt's thighs squeezed around him.

“If it's too much, let us know,” Percival then told Roscuro, and the officer immediately shook his head. “If it gets too much--” Percival tried to comfort him, but Roscuro kept shaking his head. It would never be too much, not in the bad way, at least. Roscuro— _Credence—_ was made to be between his lovers like this. This was where he belonged, where he loved to be. Enveloped in Newt's warmth, smothered by Percival's body, the gentle touches and soft voices belying the intimacy underneath the animalistic sounds and movements.

With a smirk, Percival said, “Well then. We'll start slow.” Newt immediately huffed, however, but he bit back any remarks when Percival began to move, pulling Roscuro back with him, and then jolted him forward once more, a second jolt taking Newt off guard from Percival's added weight. Newt quickly scrambled to hold onto Roscuro, clinging to his shoulders tightly in preparation for what was to come.

As Percival worked up to a steady rhythm, Roscuro panted and huffed and Newt whined and whimpered. The faster Percival went, the harder Roscuro thrust into Newt, and the louder Newt became. The redhead dropped his head back against the desk with a _thunk_ , gasping out, “I-I'm gunna come first... This isn't fair....”

“Hormones, Newton,” Percival teased with a growl to his words, leaning back a bit to watch his flesh pull from Roscuro's body, then thrust back home. Newt groaned mere moments after, feeling it deep inside himself.

“Th-there's no way...” Newt gasped, breathless already, “C-can't come twice... not in a row.”

“Mmm, that doesn't sound like a 'can-do' attitude,” Percival smirked, grunting when Newt immediately kicked him with his heel.

“Percival!” The redhead groaned, looking at the man with wide, irate eyes. Roscuro, meanwhile, was smothering his breathy laughter against Newt's skin, his shoulders bouncing. Percival clicked his tongue and delivered a rough slap of his hips, immediately shutting both boys up with a tremor of arousal. Newt tipped his head back once again, moaning out his name.

“Now I'll make sure you come first,” Percival groused, picking up the speed much to the delight of both of his boys, “And then I'll fuck Roscuro so hard he'll come on _you.”_

Newt whined petulantly, although he couldn't keep up the bratty attitude for long when he was being fucked so earnestly, his thighs already beginning to tremble. Roscuro, their poor, silent lover, seemed to be having a hard time keeping up. He would jolt backward against Percival before springing forward into Newt, his body confused by the two points of pleasure. Percival found it entirely too adorable, and figured the only way to solve the issue would be to fuck them both faster.

Picking up the pace once more, Percival himself couldn't hold back a delectable groan. Newt whimpered weakly, nails digging into Roscuro's clothes.

“Percy.... Roscuro... Percy....” He chanted, rocking against their thrusts, then grinding his hips up against the rough material of Roscuro's vest. He could feel his own pre pooling on his stomach, wetting his already damp skin, and he knew he really wasn't going to last long. Roscuro clung to him so tight and Percival fucked them both so good, Newt was struggling to just last a few seconds longer.

“I-I _c-c-can't!”_ He cried out when it became too much to handle, his entire body jolting in shock as his orgasm washed over him, pulse after earth-shaking pulse making him squirm underneath the two men. Roscuro's breath caught dangerously loudly, his own body shuddering, although he didn't quite hit his release. Percival gave a low groan, but he didn't even allow Roscuro to help Newt ride it out. He yanked the officer back to quickly that Newt whined in disappointment, but he could hardly be angry, especially when he was treated to the lovely sight of Percival fucking Roscuro with a passion, one arm holding the man up, his other hand wrapped firmly around Roscuro's wet cock, flying over it with a vicious speed. Roscuro's mouth hung open in a silent scream, contorting as the pleasure overwhelmed him, and with a few final jolts of his body he, too, was coming.

Newt gasped when Roscuro spilled over his body, fat stripes of come splattering across his bare chest, painting him in a warm, milky white. Percival didn't let up on his abuse, forcing every last drop from Roscuro until the officer was tugging at his arm, cringing from the overstimulation.

With him finished, Percival pulled himself out of the officer, then tugged Newt to the edge of the desk until he was dropping onto his knees. Newt thought at first that Percival wanted him to blow him, but before he could even open his mouth, the man was spilling down his face. Newt shouted in surprise, eyes squeezing shut before something got in them. He couldn't help the full-body shudder at the sensation of hot spend rolling down his cheeks and lips in thick globs, and as soon as Percival was done, he dared to flutter his eyes open.

Roscuro was staring at him from where he had collapsed in Newt's chair, mouth agape. Percival staggered backward a few steps but managed to find his footing and he gave a relieved sigh. Newt, meanwhile, had come covering his face, chest, and stomach, and he felt worse for wear.

“I needed that,” Percival declared with a smirk, running a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing it out of his face.

“I need a shower,” Newt pouted, wiping some of Percival's jizz from his cheek, then jumping when Roscuro kneeled down beside him and licked his other cheek clean. Laughing deliriously, Newt said, “Not like _that!_ An _actual_ shower!”

Roscuro all but pouted, and when Newt laughed a second time, Roscuro dove back in and continued to kiss, lick, and suck Newt clean. Newt giggled all the while, allowing the officer to push him back onto the floor, stretching him out so he could get every last inch of him. Newt barely noticed when his mirth turned into soft moans, or when Roscuro started to actually suck him off. He only realized that his fingers were curling in his dark hair tightly and his groin was once again burning with desire.

“Roscuro,” He breathed, rolling his hips up, savoring the warmth of his mouth while he had it. He came quickly, almost embarrassingly so if he hadn't already come three times that day. As soon as Roscuro pulled away, licking his lips almost triumphantly, Percival grinned down at Newt. Immediately, the redhead panted out, “Not a word.”

“I wouldn't dare,” Percival promised sweetly, looking for all the world like he had just won the best prize. But alas, their fun had to come to an end eventually. Percival was going to be the one to break the bad news. “Newton, we should head home, now.”

Roscuro pouted all over again, but he didn't try to stop them. Newt, however, looked like he was about to cling to the officer in order to drag him along. “Roscuro has work to do, doesn't he?” when Roscuro nodded, Percival added, “We don't want to get him in trouble, Newton. Let him get back to work so that we can do this again, alright?”

“But _Percy_ ,” Newt still complained, even as Roscuro slipped from his arms so he could get to his feet, fixing up his pants and blatantly ignoring the wet spot on the front of his vest. “I just want to take him home...”

“I'm sorry, baby,” Percival sighed, giving them both an apologetic look, “We'll do this again soon, alright? Maybe we can figure something out for winter break?”

Roscuro's face pinched, and Percival could already tell that any plans they made would simply be impossible to go through with. Roscuro had his work to do, and even if he was enjoying his time with the two of them, it was obvious that his work came first. He was to remain anonymous, after all. It would be hard to do such a thing if he had a lover hanging off both arms.

“Come on, Newt. Get dressed and give Roscuro a goodbye kiss.” Percival ordered, and Newt huffed while he pushed himself up to his feet.

“Fine,” He mumbled, tugging on his clothes stubbornly. He only relaxed when he approached Roscuro for his kiss, and he absolutely melted against the officer's chest. In a soft, sweet voice, Newt whispered, “Come back soon, please?”

Percival smiled a little, then reminded his little lover, “Don't you have something to give the man, Newt?”

“Do I?” Newt hummed, looking back at Percival for a moment before his eyes went wide with recollection, “I do!” He scrambled for his tablet—knocked to the corner of his desk in their frenzy—checked that the file had transferred safely, then pulled the USB from the port and handed it to Roscuro. Blushing bright red, Newt requested nervously, “J-Just... watch it when you're alone, okay? Don't let it get into anyone else's hands.”

Roscuro took the USB, his mouth opened in a surprised 'o', and he peered up once more at Newt before giving him a firm nod. Tucking the USB into his vest, Roscuro pulled the redhead in for one last kiss, then did the same for Percival, where he lingered just a moment longer.

“We'll see you tomorrow,” Percival smiled, watching Roscuro walk towards the door to the classroom, his legs still a little shaky. Newt sighed wistfully, frowning as Roscuro left the room. Shortly after, he was turning his attention to Percival, and Percival merely shrugged his shoulders.

“We should head home, too. We both need a shower.” He suggested, and Newt's forlorn stare turned into an indignant one.

“ _You're_ not the one who got covered _twice_ with come.” Newt pointed out, and Percival could do nothing but laugh.

The next morning, Percival and Newt arrived at school and witnessed an interesting scene. Crowded just between the gate to the school campus and the main building was a crowd of at least twenty students, standing arm-in-arm in a tight circle, rhythmically chanting “Educational discrimination is not grounds for termination!” Already, this little protest was gathering a few interested students, some of them content to just stand back and watch, while a few others were taking out their phones and tablets to record the spectacle.

Percival grimaced at the sight, and with a hand on Newt's arm, he tried to guide the redhead away. “Come on, let's get to class before this gets ugly.”

“Ugly? They're just protesting,” Newt said, eyes still drawn to the students chanting, “That's what you Americans are all about, isn't it?”

“They're children. It'll break out into a riot soon enough,” Percival scoffed, still trying to drag Newt away, but all of a sudden the young man was planting his feet in the ground. Exasperated, Percival looked at Newt and said tiredly, “Newton, come on. Class is going to start.”

Putting on a brave face, Newt unexpectedly said, “I think we should join them.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think we should go and join them! They don't have any faculty with them. It'd be a good idea to supervise if you really think they'll turn violent. If an authority figure is there, we won't have to worry about a fight breaking out.” Newt claimed, gesturing towards the protest, and Percival struggled to find an excuse. Luckily for him, it came in the form of five campus officers approaching the crowd, Roscuro leading them.

Gesturing to the officers, Percival said, “There, see? It's being handled. Let's go.”

“Percival,” Newt huffed, tugging his arm away from the man. He didn't say another word, however, he merely shook his head at his partner, then turned and jogged towards the protest, skirting around the marching officers and standing between them and the students. A few of the students looked at Newt warily, but when he didn't try to actively stop them, they instead focused their sights on the officers drawing too close for comfort.

Percival rolled his eyes at the sight, far too old for a young and radical lover, but he, too, wandered over to the protest when he realized Newt really wasn't going to back down. He stayed on the sidelines, hands in his pockets and a frown on his face. More officers were beginning to make their way over, drawn in by the ruckus and the crowd gathering. This time, Grindelwald led the pack.

“What is going on out here?” Grindelwald questioned in a booming voice. Roscuro and his five officers turned to face their boss, but none of them said a word. Grindelwald looked over the students, who refused to stop chanting, and sneered. “That's enough! Disband and get to class!”

A few of the students watching faltered and wandered away. Slowly, the crowd weaned out, but the protesting group remained locked in arms, Newt standing in front of them with his own arms crossed. He wasn't chanting, thank God Percival thought, but it didn't look like he was going to let things be. Grindelwald didn't seem to like that at all.

“Disband immediately or we will be forced to escort you to the Principle's office” Grindelwald threatened. This time, a few of the chanting voices petered off. Newt clenched his jaw and took a few steps back, putting himself in line with the students, even going so far as to link arms with them. Percival groaned and dropped his head into his hands, embarrassed.

When the protesters still didn't budge, Grindelwald snapped his fingers and ordered his officers, “Take them in.”

Percival's head snapped up the moment he heard the familiar crack of steel scraping on steel. His heart leaped to his throat when he saw ten officers begin to surround the protesters, nightsticks in hand, looking ready to throttle the students. They and Newt held onto one another tightly, Newt beginning to tremble although he remained stubbornly standing.

“Are you insane? Those are children!” Percival shouted, gesturing to the group.

“They need to learn their lesson if they plan to protest their government.” Grindelwald sneered. Roscuro and his five officers watched carefully, and when Roscuro gave a signal with his hand, he and his team armed themselves with nightsticks, flicking them open with a sickening crack. Percival felt his stomach drop and his face flush white. Newt even looked shocked, though he still, _still_ didn't budge. He stared at Roscuro, however, wide-eyed and angry, just daring the man to try anything.

“Detain them by any means necessary!” Grindelwald ordered, and that put the officers—and Roscuro—into action.

The ten guards Grindelwald arrived with took only a handful of steps towards the protesters, the students' chant faltering in preparation for the abuse. Even Newt cringed and squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the blows coming. Percival clenched his jaw tight, wanting to run in there and just yank Newt away, make sure at least he didn't get hurt, but who was he, a thirty-five-year-old man, against _fifteen_ officers?

Roscuro and his five surrounded the crowd faster than Grindelwald's team did, Roscuro standing face-to-face with Newt, nightstick still in hand. The students quivered, some of them already beginning to cry, but Roscuro didn't raise his weapon. None of them did, in fact. Percival and Grindelwald watched in equal parts astonishment and fear as Roscuro turned his back on Newt, on the protesters, and held out his arms and the nightstick in a show of protection.

And it wasn't just him. His five officers immediately followed suit, using themselves as shields for the students—for _Newt—_ looking ready to fend anyone off that might wish harm on them.

“What are you doing?” Grindelwald spat, approaching his second-in-arms at a lightning speed, shoving the man with both hands and nearly bowling him over, but Newt managed to grab the officer just in time, keeping him upright. When the students noticed that they weren't being attacked, that they were instead being _protected_ , their chants resumed with a tentative uncertainty, although it picked up confidence the longer the officers stayed.

“Detain them! You stupid boy, _detain them_!” Grindelwald shouted at Roscuro, shoving him again, even smacking him across the mask, but Roscuro didn't budge. He kept his arms splayed, kept his nightstick open and in his hand. Slowly, an audience began to grow once more. More and more students were taking out their cameras, filming the spectacle that was Grindelwald, the man in charge of officers not only in Ilvermorny, but the officers in their entire school district, physically battered one of his own men while he shouted at him to comply. Roscuro's five officers didn't try to help him, and Grindelwald's ten didn't step in either. They were at a standstill, watching Grindelwald fall into a deranged rage while Roscuro took the beating.

It all came to a head when, in Grindelwald's blind anger, he snatched a taser from a nearby officer and slammed the business end of it against Roscuro's arm, wracking his body with fifty-thousand volts. The officer shouted in pain, his entire body going tense, twitching as the electricity worked its way through his limbs. The students he was protecting shouted in horror, Newt yelling out Roscuro's name, and finally they broke apart. A few of them ran for the building, slipping by the officers who seemed fixated on the violence towards one of their own. As soon as the taser was yanked away, Roscuro dropped to his knees, his nightstick skittering out of his hand and across the ground. Newt dropped down right beside him, pulling the limp Roscuro into his lap, and he shouted at Grindelwald, “You bloody maniac! You'd do this to your own men?!”

But Grindelwald ignored Newt in order to tell his officers, “Detain the rest of them! Throw them in the security office for questioning!”

A few more students made a run for it, but only a handful more managed to slip away. Officers caught and grabbed the rest of the runaways, and even Roscuro's five couldn't do anything more to try and keep the situation from escalating. Newt clung tighter to Roscuro, tears burning his eyes, and he shouted at Grindelwald a bit incoherently, “You told us Roscuro was here to keep you in check! To stop any questionable actions taken by you and your men! You can't _tase_ your safeguard!”

“Detain Scamander as well! Throw him in _my_ office!” Grindelwald ordered, and one of Roscuro's five immediately acted, grabbing Newt by the arms and yanking him to his feet despite his attempts to struggle.

“Let him go! He didn't do anything!” Percival tried to intervene, but the officers were already urging Percival to step back, to move along and not cause any trouble. Roscuro remained dazed on the ground as Newt and Percival were forced apart, Percival shouting for Newt's release and Newt demanding justice for Roscuro.

Facing the crowd of students and faculty alike, Grindelwald shouted, “Take this as an example and a warning! You _dare_ cross me and my men, and you will pay the price!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point on, things are going to be a lot less exciting as we wind this fic down. Phew!


	10. Cognitive Dissonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winding down now..... ahhhhh yes..... nice and calm from here on out....
> 
> also, hello again!

Kicking and screaming, Newt was dragged away from the students. Instead of being led into the security offices, he was yanked down an isolated hallway, held by the arms by the two guards who grabbed him.

“Where are you taking me?” Newt huffed, trying to tug his way free from their grip, but their hands only tightened around him, digging into skin and muscle, sure to leave a bruise. When squirming didn't help any longer, Newt tried to dig his heels into the ground, but the soldiers were far stronger than he was, especially paired up. Reluctantly, Newt had to allow himself to be forced along, his stomach twisting when they neared the Execution Hall.

He nearly started fighting all over again as soon as they entered it.

“What are you doing?” He blurted, heart pounding, “Why—Why are we here? Let me go!”

They carried him past the cold metal showers and through a dark concrete room fitted only with chairs bearing leather straps to restrain their occupants. Newt trembled as he saw the plastic seats and the restraints. He could have been there last year. He could have been there, could have been killed, but Credence had gone instead. Credence had been here in his place.

His panic left him in tears, although he stubbornly refused to sob or wail, even when the officers marched him through a reinforced metal door, past a rickety, dangerous-looking industrial lift, and into a small, dusty office. He was then thrown unceremoniously into the wooden seat there, and while one officer turned and left the room, the other stood in the doorway and pointed at Newt firmly, ordering him in a dark voice, “Stay.”

“I-I'm not a dog!” Newt bit back despite knowing he wasn't at all intimidating, what with the tears he could feel rolling down his cheeks and the way he rubbed his sore arms. He trembled in his seat, wondering just what Grindelwald was going to do to him. Luckily, he didn't have to wait long for the man of the hour to show, tugging along a woozy-looking Roscuro by the strap of his vest.

Seeing his partner made Newt relax only the slightest bit, but he had to keep his mouth shut, had to refrain from gasping in relief or asking Roscuro if he was okay. The less Grindelwald knew about their relationship, the better.

With the officer still guarding the door, Grindelwald shoved Roscuro into the chair behind the desk, then turned his rage on Newt. He didn't even allow the redhead to get a word out before he was hissing like a snake, “You damned boy! Always sticking your nose into things you don't belong in! Always trying to take what isn't yours to have! Why couldn't you have transferred in and _failed_ like you were supposed to?!”

“Wh-What?” Newt blurted, but Grindelwald wasn't about to listen to him anytime soon.

“And now you're throwing yourself in the spotlight and messing everything up again! If it wasn't for Credence, I would have shot you in your fucking skull already!”

Behind him, Roscuro gurgled weakly. Grindelwald reared back for a moment, running hands stiffly through his hair, trying to keep himself together when he was so obviously falling apart in rage. His breath came raggedly, sucked in between clenched teeth and exhaled in great gusts from his nose. He paced the small room, three steps left, three steps right, three steps left, then he stopped and faced Newt again.

“Now here you are,” Grindelwald rumbled deep in his chest, pale eyes wide and vicious, “Here you are, finally in my clutches, where no one can save you. Not _Credence_ , not _Percival_ , not even your damned brother Theseus.” Approaching Newt with a stiff gait, Grindelwald grabbed the chair he sat on by the edge of it, clutching the wood so tightly it groaned under his grip. Newt jolted between his arms, staring numbly at the center of Grindelwald's chest, unable to even breathe lest he set this lunatic off again.

“I could kill you here and no one would be the wiser.” Grindelwald mused, lips curling into what could only be described as a sneer, “Throw you down into the pit with the rest of the goddamned _pigs_ and watch you fester away.” And then, cryptically, Grindelwald asked, “Do you believe in Hell, Scamander?”

When Newt didn't respond, Grindelwald leaned ever closer and whispered in a voice so low he could feel it reverberating in his bones, “It exists. Just under our feet, it exists, and it _teems_ with the swine and refuse we've killed over the years, tortured into submission. They have been raped and beaten and abused by my own little devils, and you will bear their fate and break just like they have. That's all your kind is good for.”

“My kind?” Newt questioned, voice trembling, but Grindelwald only scoffed at him and pushed away, jerking Newt's chair backward in his haste.

“I should have never let you slip away from my grasp,” Grindelwald huffed, pacing thoughtlessly towards Roscuro, ignoring the way his head lulled as he struggled to keep it upright. Grindelwald stood by his chair and settled a hand heavily on Roscuro's shoulder, tilting the man dangerously to the side. “Should have finished the Thinning when I had the chance... I was prideful, but I will not be any longer.”

Turning to face Newt again, Grindelwald said in a cold voice, “I know what you have done with him. He cornered you in the bathroom and ravished you.” Squeezing Roscuro's shoulder, he continued, “Even when he is mine, he is still crawling right back to you, isn't he?”

Newt couldn't fathom what Grindelwald meant, but he shook his head anyway, hoping that refusing it enough would make Grindelwald believe it. Roscuro still sat there in a daze, unable to hear their words, and almost desperately Newt claimed, “Th-this is just a misunderstanding. He and I—We n-never--”

But he was cut short when Grindelwald yelled at the top of his lungs, “Don't you lie to me!” He stepped away from Roscuro and took the place in front of Newt in three long strides. Newt clung to the edge of his seat, leaning back as far as the wooden backing would let him, head turned away and eyes staring wide at Grindelwald's shoulder, bearing his throat like Grindelwald was some beast. “You are an ungrateful immigrant menace, bent on dismantling the American government and tainting those you touch! Look at me!” Grindelwald bellowed, snatching Newt by the jaw so suddenly that his head whipped forward. Newt sucked in a sharp breath and his eyes locked with Grindelwald's, his pupils mere pinpricks in mismatched hues. Grindelwald held his head so tightly Newt's jaw was forced open a fraction, his muscles stinging in pain.

“You will learn to respect those in charge or you will learn to fear them!” Grindelwald roared, making Newt's ears ring and his heart freeze in his chest. Shoving Newt off of the chair with a rough hand, Grindelwald barked, “Now go! Get out of my sight!” He scrambled to his feet and ran for the door, the officer guarding it stepping aside just in time to avoid the terrified man from crashing into him. As he ran down the concrete hall, Grindelwald's voice followed close behind him with a warning.

“Lay a hand on my things again and I will make sure he will be the last one you touch!”

Scrambling away from the execution hall, Newt barreled past students and staff, face a mess and mind scattered. He didn't stop running until he got to Percival's classroom, and even then he burst through the doors much to the surprise of Percival himself and the few students that had gathered in their seats early.

“Newton!” Percival gasped, not needing to take more than a handful of steps before Newt was collapsing against him, arms circled tight around Percival's neck. Despite the quiet whispers of the class and the rumors sure to fly by the end of the day, Percival held Newt tightly around the waist with one arm and held Newt's head to his shoulder with his hand. He tucked his nose against Newt's neck, breathing him in, feeling beyond relieved at having his little lover back. Exhaling all of the anxiety and fear, Percival didn't let Newt go until the redhead was pulling away, and even then he fought to hold on to him for just a few seconds longer. When they were at arm's length, Newt blinked his wet green eyes up at Percival, bottom lip trembling, and Percival felt his heartbreak.

“God, what did they do to you?” Percival whispered, cradling Newt gently by the jaw and turning his head this way and that, examining the red marks on his face left by Grindelwald's fingers. “Newton...” Percival tutted, wiping away the tears that were beginning to fall from his lashes.

Hating how unhappy Newt looked, Percival declared with a finality, “We're going home.”

But Newt immediately shook his head, his brows drawing together in a frown despite the tears still leaking from him. “I don't need to go home,” He told Percival, voice quivering wetly.

“Newt, you're crying,” Percival pointed out, but Newt still refused.

“I was just scared,” Newt decided, stepping away from Percival's grip and wiping his own tears, “Percival, someone has to stop that madman! He just threatened to kill me!”

The students whispered to one another again, their presence suddenly becoming prominent in Percival's mind. With a worried glance their way, Percival approached Newt and said in a low voice, “Newton, maybe we should talk about this another time.”

But Newt jerked away from him once more, eyes wide and frown set, and he declared without a care for who heard him, “No! This isn't something that can wait, Percival! _He threatened to kill me_! Is this not surprising to you?”

Gritting his teeth, Percival tried again to calm his partner, “There are children present, Newt.”

“Oh! Children!” Newt scoffed, “Let's have them run around with a murderous madman on the loose, then! Much safer than _discussing_ it!”

“Newt,” Percival sighed, but the redhead was on a roll now.

“It doesn't matter that he just violently broke up a peaceful protest! It doesn't matter that he threatened me or the students! What matters is that we don't _scare_ anybody by _talking_ about it!”

Irritated at being ignored, Percival snapped, “Well what did you expect when you stood there in the middle of the courtyard?! You made yourself a target and antagonized them, antagonized Grindelwald until he had no choice but to do what he did!”

“Percival!” Newt huffed, shocked at his words.

“Oh, don't 'Percival' me! Your damned ambitious rioting is going to get someone _killed_ and you know it!”

Not even the students sitting in the classroom with them dared to utter a word. The silence in the room was so heavy it made Newt tremble and crushed Percival's heart. The longer it lasted, the quicker Percival's resolve fell apart, until soon his shoulders were slumping and realization was crossing his face.

“Newt,” He whispered, but Newt ducked his head and crossed his arms, sinking back into the year-old shell Percival and Credence had worked him out of. Percival could almost see it curling around him, locking off the most intimate, vulnerable parts of himself.

When Percival reached out to him, Newt side-stepped him do expertly they didn't even brush shoulders when he walked away, heading straight for his desk and taking his seat. He kept his head down and his arms crossed, looking for all the world as if it were his first day in an American school again. Percival felt regret pool in his chest, but he had already made things worse. He didn't dare open his mouth lest he say something even more irreparable.

The bell rang a moment later and the rest of Percival's students flooded in. With the growing audience, Percival became nervous and held his tongue tightly. He didn't want to create a scene. Neither did Newt, it seemed because he said nothing on the matter as well.

The second bell rang and Percival began his lecture.

By the time school was over and Newt and Percival were just returning home, Newt found the marks on his face had indeed turned to bruises. He stood in the entry hallway, staring at himself in the mirror, and gently prodded the darkened splotches across his jaw and cheek, only to immediately wince in pain. He paid Percival no mind, even though the man looked properly shamed from Newt's day-long silent treatment. He barely even reacted when Percival approached him from behind and whispered a quiet, “I'm sorry.”

Newt clenched his jaw shut, not daring to utter a word. He averted his gaze from Percival's reflection, covering the more heavily injured side of his face with his hand and turning his head away. Percival didn't let him slip away, though. He trapped Newt there in front of the mirror by placing his hands on his hips and holding him still. He ducked his head to try and meet Newt's eyes, but the man had too much experience avoiding such things. “Talk to me. Please.” Percival bid, and Newt felt his eyebrow quirk.

The words burst from him as if he could no longer hold back. “ _Now_ you want to talk—when there is no one around to hear it?” Percival cringed at the backlash, but his embarrassment was not enough of an apology, “You didn't believe what I told you earlier. Why should it be any different now?”

“I _do_ believe you,” Percival tried to say, but Newt immediately questioned him with a sharp, “Then why did you refuse to hear me out? You blamed _me_ for getting hurt! You... you embarrassed me in front of your students!”

With a heavy sigh, Percival said, “It was a conversation we should have had in private.”

“It's a 'conversation' that the school districts need to have publicly _now_. Their students are at stake!” Newt argued, turning away from the mirror so he could look at Percival directly, “I don't understand you, Percival. How can you just sit here and let this happen around you?”

“The same way you lived in England and didn't do a thing to help the handicapped from being unnecessarily culled.” Percival stated bluntly, brows furrowed, “It's what the American government has decided on, Newton. We can't change that.”

“It's not the same.” Newt claimed, irritated, “The Plague Doctors had to have records to back up their claims. They needed to prove that the person was ill beyond reasonable doubt in order to arrange for their death. Here, it all falls under one test. And even so, those who 'fail' can be picked and rearranged like little chess pieces. The politician's son can slip by nearly his entire high school education just because he knows the right man. The immigrant student can be singled out by the system because he is unnecessary baggage.”

Percival pondered Newt's words, his eyes thoughtful, and Newt thought for a long moment that maybe Percival finally understood. When he opened his mouth, however, the only question that came from him was, “If the Plague Doctors needed proof, why was Theseus so keen on getting you out of Britain? It's obvious you're not handicapped.”

Newt remained silent for so long that Percival hesitantly asked, “You... aren't handicapped, are you?”

Lifting his eyes to look at Percival, Newt asked, “Would it matter if I were? Would you love me any less?”

To which Percival replied with a calm, “I wouldn't love you differently and you know it, but it _does_ matter. If there is something I should be doing to help you or something that hinders you, I should know about it so that I can take care of you.” Newt looked down again, so Percival mentioned, “I love you for _you_ , Newt. Nothing's going to scare me away now.”

With a long, shuddering sigh, Newt crossed his arms and turned away from Percival, not entirely turning his back on him, but no longer facing him head-on. In a quiet tone, Newt explained, “When I was very young, I was tested for autism. They believed I was displaying symptoms and at least had Asperger's, but they eventually diagnosed me as autistic. My parents thought I was just atypical, not autistic. They said I wasn't talking because I didn't have much to say, not because I was disabled. I was shy, not isolated, not avoiding eye contact.”

Peering at Percival from the corner of his eye, Newt mumbled, “My parents fought to get the diagnosis expunged from my records. They provided proof somehow that I wasn't autistic or that I had Asperger's. When the Plague Doctors didn't take me that year, they thought it had all been settled...

“They died a couple of years before Theseus and I came here. A year after that, Britain didn't meet it's five percent. We got a letter soon after explaining that old records would be reopened and that anyone who had shown signs, expunged or not, may be taken. Whatever proof my parents had that I wasn't autistic was gone with them. When Theseus couldn't provide evidence that I was not handicapped, he panicked and brought me here.”

Then, looking back at Percival, Newt declared, “Their system works, even if it's a little faulty. At least there is a lower chance for mistakes to happen. Plague Doctors need proof. Your schools rely on one measly test.”

Sighing himself, Percival asked Newt, “And what do you expect to do, huh? You can't change how the American system works, Newt.”

“I can try.” Newt said stiffly, sticking his nose in the air, “And _you_ can try being a little _supportive_.”

“Newt...” Percival huffed, ducking his head for a moment, but when the redhead didn't flounder, he decided to be honest with his lover. Looking at him, at his fiery expression and stiff upper lip, Percival brushed a hand down Newt's arm and admitted, “You know I can't, Newt... I.... I don't even want you to do this. I don't want them to take you, too.”

The words touched Newt, even if just slightly. With a touch more compassion, Newt relaxed and replied, “I don't expect you to stand beside me, but at least have my back.” Unravelling his arms from his crossed stance, Newt took Percival's hands in his own and squeezed, “Make sure they _can't_ take me. Protect me from the sidelines.” Then, with a wry smile and a nervous stutter, Newt said, “You're a b-bit too old to be pr-protesting.”

Brows lifting, Percival felt a smile pull at his lips and he asked, “Old, eh?” When Newt laughed, Percival pulled the redhead closer and growled, “I'll show _you_ 'old.'”

“For protesting!” Newt said again, then yelped when Percival hoisted him up by the thighs, carrying Newt further into the house.

As they lay in bed later on that night, Newt unwinding with a book and Percival watching a video on his IGlass with his glasses balanced on his nose, Percival told his young lover, “Do you really want to do this, then?”

“Hm?” Newt hummed, finishing up his last sentence before he looked up at Percival, “What? Protest?” When Percival nodded, Newt huffed through his nose and said, “Positive.”

Looking uncomfortable, Percival asked, “You're not worried about Grindelwald? About... About Roscuro?”

“Of course I'm worried, Percival,” Newt said with a frown, setting his book down on his lap, “But I can't just sit by and do nothing.” Glancing away for a moment, Newt then said, “I don't believe for a second that Credence deserved to die because of the Thinning. He was smart, you know. Quiet and a little self-conscious, but he was smart. I just... I just don't think the Thinning is a good way of scoring intelligence.”

Percival looked at Newt, and Newt held his gaze steadily, just daring the man to argue with him. Waiting for him to plead with Newt to change his mind and to put Credence and the protest behind him. He set his jaw and waited for Percival's disapproval, but what he got instead was a quiet, if not reluctant, “Alright. Then we'll have to start getting to school earlier if you're going to do your thing.”

Blinking at Percival in surprise, Newt asked, “You're going to help me?” which garnered a brief chuckle from the man.

“You just lectured me on supporting you from the sidelines and now you're acting shocked that I will? Can you make up your mind?” He teased, and Newt felt his face bloom in embarrassment.

“I-I just thought...” Newt began to explain himself, but promptly fell quiet when Percival leaned in for a soft kiss.

“I know.” He whispered, looking into Newt's eyes. Then, with a sad look, he said, “I couldn't imagine Credence would want to have gone without a fight.”

Biting his bottom lip to fight back the tears, Newt pulled Percival into one more deep kiss, trying to show how thankful he was that Percival was going to help him.

“You won't have to stand outside with me,” Newt told him, smiling all the while, “You can sit in your class and do all the work you need to if you'd like. I promise I'll come in before the second bell rings.”

Humming, Percival said teasingly, “Don't make empty promises to me, young man. If you're late even once, no more extra-curricular protesting!”

Pouting playfully, Newt whined out, “But _Mr. Graves_!”

“Don't 'Mr. Graves' me, Newton. These are my rules.” He tutted, wagging a finger in the redhead's direction, earning a series of light giggles.

True to his word, the very next morning Percival woke Newton up a whole hour earlier, getting them ready for the day and brewing them both coffee. As soon as they hit the campus, Percival went to his classroom while Newt stood outside, frowning at the passing campus officers who glanced his way. He thought after yesterday's display-turned-hectic, the students would be too nervous to join him at first, but as they began to trickle in, Newt found more and more of them standing at his side, effectively creating a line in front of the main entrance, arms intertwined and equally determined looks on their faces. A few officers stopped to stare at them, crossing their arms or shaking their heads. They didn't try to break up their line, however. It didn't seem like they were going to do anything at all, in fact, not without a direct order.

And then Roscuro came around and saw them. Newt felt his heart pick up speed, a mix of nerves and relief pounding inside of him. He was glad the officer seemed fine after yesterday, but he was afraid that Grindelwald's actions may have turned the man against him.

Luckily, whatever might have gone through Roscuro's mind upon seeing Newt and the student protesters standing there yet again held no ill will, and with a commanding gesture, Roscuro urged the loitering guards away and back to their posts. Just as he himself was beginning to leave, Roscuro glanced back at Newt and offered him a simple nod. Newt had to fight back a smile. He had both lovers' approval now, and that only made him feel more confident in what he had decided to do.

When Grindelwald walked by, Newt and the students held each other more firmly, preparing for the worst. Grindelwald indeed stopped and sneered at them, but he only approached Newt, saying in a dark voice, “Keep this up and you'll regret it.”

Setting his jaw, Newt replied firmly, “I won't drop this. Even if I'm the only one standing here, I won't let this go.”

The way Grindelwald ground his teeth together only belied his anger that he tried to keep hidden under a calm visage. Taking a few deep breaths through his nose, Grindelwald then replied, “Then you will incur the wrath of my government.”

Very, _very_ briefly, Newt wanted to tell Grindelwald to bring it on. However, with the last of his restraint, Newt instead offered a very brief, “I will face the consequences.”

Grindelwald narrowed his eyes. He obviously didn't hear the response he wanted, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. Without another word, Grindelwald stalked away from the protesters, shoulders stiff and feet stomping. Newt gave a shuddering breath, heart racing like a horse and feeling as if he had just won a dangerous battle. This wasn't the end of it, he knew. There were going to be many more confrontations to come. But at least Newt knew he wasn't alone.

Every day since then, Newt and the students stood outside of the main entrance, arm-in-arm in protest against the 10-241. Some days they remained silent. Other days they chanted together the same phrase, over and over. 'Educational discrimination is not grounds for termination!” Newt thought he had never spoken so loudly in his life. Percival teased him, saying that he was saying the phrase so often he murmured it in his sleep. Newt even made it a point to go to the campus at least every other day over the winter break to protest. He stood in front of the closed gate by himself for the first three days. He thought he would be alone for the whole two weeks, but Percival ended up coming through for Newt. Without telling Newt first, Percival sent out a mere email to his students. He didn't demand they come or offer anything in return. In fact, all he told them was that Newt was still protesting on his break, and if anyone was willing to join, these were the hours Newt would be present.

By the fourth day, Newt stood in front of the school with fifteen other students. Some of them even came with signs. They were made of cardboard and were falling apart by the end of the day, but it made more people stop at the side of the road.

By the start of the second week, Newt stood with thirty other students, chanting all day until their voices were hoarse and their feet were sore. By the middle of the week, they had attracted the media's attention. At night, Newt and Percival watched the news, Newt nursing a steaming hot mug of tea and Percival massaging his feet and calves. As soon as the news implied that Grindelwald was going to be making an appearance, Newt and Percival looked at one another hesitantly.

“We don't have to go tomorrow,” Percival told Newt, but the damned boy was far too stubborn to let one man scare him away.

“Of course we do, especially if Grindelwald is going to be there,” Newt told him in a rough whisper, brows furrowed, “I can't let him think that he can scare us.”

Looking reluctant, Percival ground his thumb against the ball of Newt's foot, then grumbled, “Alright. I'll prepare bail.”

Newt gave Percival a flat look, and when Percival grimaced back at him, Newt said plainly, “I'm not going to get _arrested_.”

“I'd be relieved if you only got arrested.” Percival said meekly, “If Grindelwald is going to be there, so will all his officers. And if his officers are going to be there.... Well, you saw what happened the first day you protested. He's going to do whatever he can to get a rise out of you and the others. If even one of you throws the first punch, Grindelwald and his officers can claim self-defense and do whatever he'd like.”

“If Grindelwald is going to be there, so is Roscuro,” Newt pointed out, “He'll keep us safe.”

Taking a deep sigh, Percival murmured, “You can't rely on one man for long.”

“I'm not relying on one man,” Newt said with a small grin, bringing his tea up to his lip before murmuring, “I'm relying on _two_.”

Huffing and rolling his eyes, Percival said, “That's hardly any better.”

“Untrue. It's twice as good.” Newt teased, looking pleased with himself, and Percival got back at him by pinching the bottom of his foot, making Newt yelp and jolt in his grip.

“Just promise me that if all hell breaks loose tomorrow, you'll at least _try_ to get away.” Percival begged, frowning at Newt, “I don't mean this cruelly, but you're too thin for a fist-fight.”

Laughing happily, Newt said, “I'll _try_. Promise.”

And try he did, if by 'try' he meant 'take on the brunt of the hell that did, in fact, break loose so that the majority of his students could get away.' Although, much to Percival's relief, getting arrested was the only thing he actually had to worry about, and after settling the bail and filling out some minor paperwork, Percival and Newt made it home at three in the morning, both of them dead tired and Newt sporting a handful more bruises than before.

Newt flopped into bed and Percival took up the empty space beside him, working Newt out of his dirt-encrusted and blood-stained clothes. When he was laying there in his boxers, Percival grabbed a few heated towelettes and wrapped them around the worst bruises before he started on cleaning up the scrapes Newt got when he was thrown face-first into the ground so he could get cuffed. As he worked on Newt's chin, the redhead began to doze off, head tilting tiredly and eyelids looking heavier with every passing second.

“Go to sleep,” Percival said quietly, and Newt gave a soft, half-conscious grunt. As soon as his eyes shut and his breathing evened out, Percival mumbled, “I love you.”

Even in his half-sleep, Newt offered a small smile. Percival smiled back even though Newt didn't see it.

And then, the very next day, Newt was in front of the gate once again, cheek swollen and jaw scraped red. While Grindelwald didn't make another appearance, there were a lot more officers than before, but also a _lot_ more students taking Newt's side. They ranked nearly fifty now, all standing side-by-side, arm-in-arm, with Newt right in the front, proudly displaying the pain he had endured the day before.

They thought it had all come to a head the day Grindelwald showed. Nothing else happened for the remainder of the break. When school started back up, it all felt a little anti-climactic, Newt standing with his students in protest without a single disapproving word from Grindelwald or his officers. Even when they chanted passionately and drew attention, not one officer stopped in front of them.

“I think we're getting somewhere,” Newt told Percival in between classes, sitting at his desk with his chin resting on his hand, “More students are standing with us and after all that attention from the media, more people are talking about it online.”

“That's good,” Percival smiled, grading a few papers while they spoke and waited for the next class to fill up, “Besides, I don't think you're going to stop until you get your way.”

Laughing pleasantly, Newt said, “Well, you're right about that.”

After finishing one student's work, Percival leaned back in his seat and gave Newt his full attention, “Maybe we should celebrate.”

“Oh yeah?” Newt hummed, “You can buy me lunch.”

“I _always_ buy lunch.” Percival pointed out, despite Newt's grin.

“Yeah, but I always _get_ lunch. My feet hurt, Percival. Can't you spoil me this once?”

Giving a playfully exhausted sigh, Percival huffed out, “I suppose, but only this one time.”

“I knew you loved me.” Newt laughed, already looking forward to relaxing while Percival got them lunch for once.

Following his word, Percival left Newt in the classroom to get their lunch. He walked down the hall with a smile on his face and his hands in his coat pocket, facing the hectic mess hall in order to get himself and Newt some mediocre grub, as well as a small dessert just for Newt as a simple treat. He wanted to make sure Newt knew how proud he was of him, and even though a mere chocolate chip cookie didn't seem like much, Percival hoped Newt would like it anyways.

Just when the money was exchanging hands, the explosion happened. At first, Percival didn't know what happened. The whole room fell silent as the floor rattled and the boom echoed in the halls. Percival thought at first it was an earthquake, but when the sirens erupted soon after, Percival felt his blood pump. They had been drilled for this, but Percival never thought this was going to happen.

It was like a lock-down and an earthquake drill mixed together, the alarm rising in pitch in repetitive intervals. Dropping the lunch he had just purchased, Percival and a handful of other present administrators and officers began herding the children out of their seats in the cafeteria and getting them outside. First thing's first, they needed them out of the building.

The second explosion happened much closer, rattling the walls of the very building they were in, the noise so loud Percival felt his ears ring. It was this explosion that the students seemed to realize exactly what was happening.

“Don't panic! Walk to the doors in an orderly fashion! Don't shove each other!” Percival shouted over the screaming teenagers, hearing the other faculty members shouting similar things. When the officers saw the faculty were handling the students, they took off deeper into the building, planning on getting out any stragglers left behind.

With the cafeteria emptied, Percival stood with the students far from the main building, watching with wide eyes as a blaze took over more and more of the campus. He watched more students pour out from the doors, some officers stumbling out with injured students in their arms or over their shoulders.

“Newt,” Percival whispered under his breath, heart pounding, “Come on, come on....”

“Roscuro!” He heard from a distance, and his attention was stolen by Grindelwald as he searched his men, grabbing them by the shoulders and checking their masks, looking frenzied if anything, “Damnit boy—Roscuro! Roscuro!”

By chance, their eyes met, and at that moment, Grindelwald saw red.

“You!” He shouted, stomping his way over to Percival before he grabbed him by the front of his coat, “This is all your TA's fault! If that filthy alien _slut_ just kept his mouth shut--!”

“Get your hands off of me!” Percival growled, trying to shove Grindelwald off of him, but the man had a tight grip and a ferocious snarl on his face.

“If a _thing_ happened to my Roscuro--” Grindelwald began to threaten, only to cut himself short when a figured dropped to their hands and knees beside them. With hardly a breath, Grindelwald shoved Percival away and shouted, “Roscuro!”

Dropping down beside the panting and heaving officer, Grindelwald pulled him closer and checked him over as best as he could without removing his mask. As soon as he saw he was fine, Grindelwald became irritated all over again and yelled, “You idiot boy! What the hell took you so long?!”

Looking over the crowd and not seeing hide nor hair of Newton, Percival cut in by blurting, “Newt hasn't made it out...”

Roscuro lifted his head immediately, looking at Percival silently. Grindelwald looked up as well, annoyed. “Then he's dead,” Grindelwald said spitefully, only turning back to Roscuro when the officer grabbed Grindelwald by the front of his vest. Scowling at Roscuro, Grindelwald said angrily, “No. Absolutely not., You are _not_ going in there.”

“You can't leave him in there!” Percival argued, brows dipping low, “Your job is to protect the students and the faculty! If you don't send _someone_ back in there, I'll take your ass to court!”

Roscuro tugged fervently at Grindelwald's vest, still breathing hard, and Grindelwald looked ready to tremble out of his skin with rage.

“Damnit,” He cursed under his breath, pulling himself and Roscuro to their feet. With a firm hand, Grindelwald tugged open Roscuro's collar, then proceeded to rip off the shock collar latched tightly around his neck. “Utter a word to anyone that isn't an officer, and I'll make sure you never say a word again, do you understand me?”

Quickly, Roscuro nodded. Percival felt anxious, not wanting his other partner running back into the burning building, but he watched Roscuro go without another word. This was what Roscuro was trained for, Percival reasoned. He would just have to hope that Newt and Roscuro would make it out just fine.

Running back into the building, Credence was immediately overwhelmed by the smoke filling the halls and the blaring sirens still ringing. He wouldn't let it slow him down, however, and he pushed his way through the bleakness. His mask luckily doubled as a sort of respirator, though it did little to keep the heavy stench of burning wood and plastic from clogging his senses. The top half of his mask also kept the worst of the smoke and soot from stinging his eyes, letting him walk quickly down the halls. He headed straight for Percival's classroom, figuring the best place to look for Newt would be where he spent his lunch.

He didn't have to go far, however. He found Newt halfway to Percival's class, ushering students out of a classroom and directing them to cover their mouths and noses with their shirts while doing the same himself. Credence made a dash for the redhead, and just as Newt looked up at him, a third explosion hit the school just down the hall.

Screams erupted all around them. Credence and the students were blown backward from the force of the explosion, the air being punched out of Credence's lungs for a horrifyingly long moment. The heat passed over him in a thick wave, making the skin underneath his armor sting. He couldn't imagine what the students or even Newt felt.

Shoving himself back to his feet, Credence pushed the disoriented students towards the exit, making sure any injured were being guided out by another. When he didn't see Newt immediately, he felt himself begin to panic.

“Newt!” He called out, throat scratchy from disuse and the smoke. “Newt!”

Tucked underneath the rubble of a collapsed wall, Newt faded in and out of consciousness. He could feel blood spilling from his hairline. With a groan, Newt tried to push himself up by his hands, but the debris pinned him down with its weight, making his arms quiver from the strain. With a weak grunt, Newt dropped back down to the floor, unable to push himself out from under the wreckage, already feeling his skin burn from the fire crawling ever closer to him.

“Newt!” A familiar voice shouted. Newt blinked blearily as he fought the desire to give in and collapse. He knew that voice, he knew it but he couldn't quite remember.

“Newt! Please!” He begged, and Newt tried to respond, tried to call out, but he couldn't manage a noise, much less a word. It was just at the edge of his mind, just out of reach who this voice belonged to. It incited a sort of nostalgia, as well as sheer denial that it existed. He was probably already falling unconscious, his mind creating one last hallucination before the fire took him.

“Newton!” The voice suddenly gasped, and the rubble was being shoved off of his back, “Oh, thank you, God.

Newt struggled to look up at the man, recognizing in some part of his brain that he was looking up at Roscuro, but a more prominent, in control part of his mind finally piecing the puzzle together. Weakly, Newt tried to say his name. His throat felt dry and his words came out as a wheeze, however. His eyes grew blurry the thicker the smoke grew. Roscuro pulled Newt into his arms, checking his pulse and patting his cheek, trying to rouse him from eternal sleep.

“Oh, God,” Roscuro whispered, promptly tearing his mask off in one piece and fitting it over Newt's face. Coughing into the respirator, Newt struggled to take an entire breath. Newt rapidly blinked the soot from his eyes now that no more smoke was there to clog them, and he groaned as Roscuro scooped him up into his arms and began to carry him away.

“Stay awake,” He told Newt, looking down at him every once in a while, and Newt clung to Roscuro by the strap of his vest, staring at his face, feeling his mind crumbling the more he looked at him.

When he felt like he was no longer choking on every breath, Newt asked in a ragged voice, “C-Credence?”

“Shh, shh,” Roscuro—Credence-- _Whoever_ urged, walking through the school faster, trying to fight off the smoke without his mask. “Take slow breaths. I got you.”

“Credence...” Newt whispered, his eyes burning for an entirely different reason. He tightened his hold around the strap of his vest, tugging on it a bit just to get Credence to look down at him again, feeling his heart burst and his stomach twist with each glance. Even though his eyes grew blurry with the tears, Newt still saw him, saw Credence smiling down at him, and he sobbed his name again, “Credence.... Credence...”

“Almost there,” Credence told him, not knowing the way Newt's mind was twisting over itself as he tried to reason how Credence could be _there_ , holding him and carrying him from this building when he should have been dead. Cognitive dissonance had Newt doubting what he was seeing, and instead, he began to believe that he truly was dead and that Credence was here to carry him to heaven. Somehow, coming to that conclusion was far less painful than any alternative, and he clung to Credence, buried his masked face against his chest, and cried.

“I'm sorry,” He told Credence, although it didn't seem like the man heard him, “God, I'm so sorry. I never wanted you to go. I never wanted you to take my place. I—I would go back and change it if I could. I don't deserve this, Credence...”

When light overcame them, Newt gave a shuddering breath. They were here, they were in heaven. Nothing would hurt either of them again. Newt and Credence could wait here in each other's arms until Percival joined them, and then they would all be happy again. Maybe even when Theseus came to them, they would be able to bury the hatchet between them. Newt only felt regret that he couldn't have done so when he was still alive. He missed his brother so much. He wished he could have told him that.

Newt didn't know what to expect at that point, but of every possibility that crossed his mind, being abruptly dropped to the ground and rattling him out of his delusion was not one of them. Landing on his backside with a painful grunt, Newt snapped back to reality and watched through a soot-darkened visor as the school building collapsed in the flame little by little. He watched this over Roscuro's shoulder, Roscuro who had hidden his face against Newt's neck, breathing just as heavily as Newt was. With a shaking hand, Newt tore off his mask and dropped it in his lap. He wrapped one arm around Roscuro's neck, holding him tightly as more tears fell down his cheeks.

“I was dead in there,” He whispered, his mind still trying to catch up with everything he saw, “God, I was dead.... I... I saw Heaven...”

Roscuro pressed his face harder against Newt's neck, giving him a few sweet, breathless kisses while he still hung over him. Newt clung to him tighter, wrapping his other arm around Roscuro's neck as well, reeling from the experience.

“You saved me,” Newt spoke, feeling his eyes well again, and he pushed Roscuro back without a fight to meet his eyes, “You--” He was about to say it again, but his throat constricted at the sight of Roscuro's messy, ash-covered face. His dark eyes met Newt's, a hand lifted to push sweaty black hair from his brow, and Newt thought he was still dreaming.

“C-Credence?” He squawked, watching the man blink in surprise before realization dawned.

“N-n-no, I--” Credence scrambled for his mask, pulling it on, and he was so suddenly Roscuro that Newt felt his brain snap in two, torn between the truth of what he was seeing and what he had been told this whole time.

Unable to handle it any longer, Newt fainted in Credence's arms, catching only the fleeting hush of Credence angrily whispering, “Oh—God _bless_ it!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol psych


	11. One Foot In

Newt woke up in a hospital room with his left wrist cuffed to the bed frame. He came to himself slowly at first, eyelids fluttering lazily and jaw cracking with a yawn. His head pulsed at the pull of muscle, urging a pained groan from the redhead, and when he attempted to lift his hand to rub at his sore temple, his hand caught on the metal cuff, clattering noisily in the otherwise quiet room. He blinked, turned his head down, and tugged at the cuff again before his mind began to catch up with reality.

Another, more desperate tug on the cuff and Newt felt his heart rate spike. “No,” He mumbled, tugging harder on the cuff, then using his other hand to grab it by the chain and tug harder, but it did nothing except cut into his skin. “No, no...” His eyes caught on the needle taped to his inner arm, then traveled along the IV line to the bag hanging on the metal rack beside him, filled with a clear liquid that slowly dripped down into the chamber. His breath stuttered to a halt and panic overtook him, but since the IV was taped to his right arm and his left wrist was cuffed, he didn't have the capability of cognitive thinking. He jerked his wrist hard against the cuff, trying to grab the IV so he could rip it out, and he let out a pained yelp when the metal began to rub his skin raw.

The door to his room suddenly swung open a moment after, admitting a nurse, a doctor, and two armed guards, both of whom flanked the only entrance while the nurse and doctor went to Newt's side, the nurse taking down Newt's vitals while the doctor offered a kind smile and tried to calm the redhead down by introducing herself.

“Hello, Mr. Scamander. I'm Dr. Roche. Do you remember what happened to you yesterday?” She asked, putting her hand on Newt's cuffed wrist, as if hiding the metal bracelet from his sight could make the fact that he was in a hospital any more bearable.

“Why am I here?” Newt instead questioned, voice raised in pitch, “I-I shouldn't be here! You can't—can't keep me here!”

“Mr. Scamander, please calm down,” Dr. Roche requested, “You're going to make yourself hyperventilate. If you keep struggling, you're only going to exacerbate your injuries.”

But Newt wasn't listening. He had gone deaf and blind in his panic, fighting harder against the handcuff in his attempts to get away from the worried doctor. Scrabbling at the cuffs with his nails and tearing into his own skin, Newt blurted, “You don't have any r-records on me! You can't do this!”

“Mr. Scamander,” Dr. Roche tried to get him to calm down again, but Newt was too on edge.

“Let me out! G-get this off of me!” Newt shouted now, struggling against the cuff so hard that his skin was cut into by the metal and began to bleed.

Seeing that Newt wasn't going to be complying anytime soon, Dr. Roche gave a sigh and said to her nurse, “Go get his brother.”

“Theseus! Theseus is here?” Newt gasped, his focus immediately shifting away from the cuff on his wrist. “He'll tell you! I'm fine! I shouldn't be here!”

“Mr. Scamander,” Dr. Roche groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“L-Let me go, now! You c-can't kill me, you have no right!”

“Mr. Scamander!” Dr. Roche yelled, finally snapping, and Newt snapped into silence. He stared up at the doctor with wide, round eyes, his breath caught in his throat, and Dr. Roche took that moment of tense silence to explain, “You're here because you were injured in the explosion. We're _not_ going to kill you, Mr. Scamander.”

Still breathing heavily, Newt slowly began to calm down. He looked from the doctor to the nurse, both of whom weren't frowning in disdain but instead worry. He began to believe that they really _were_ there to help him in some way, but that still didn't explain two things.

“Then what about this?” He questioned, pulling the cuff still chaining him to the bed. “What about them?!” He gestured to the guards, both of whom remained rigid and unflinching as they stood beside the door.

“Well,” The doctor began to explain, a touch of irritation in her voice as she turned her attention to the guards. Whatever she might have said, however, wouldn't be known, for the door suddenly swung open and Grindelwald made his appearance, boasting loudly, “The little terrorist has finally awoken!” As he stepped further inside, two more guards stepped in to join him, one bearing the typical uniform, and the other wearing the notable mask that belonged strictly to Roscuro. Newt felt his world jar at the sight of him and at the sudden memories he brought with him.

He returned his gaze to Grindelwald as the man boldly claimed, “You just weren't so impressive when you were caught in the explosion, were you?”

“Wh-wha—You think _I_ set the bomb?” Newt sputtered, but it already looked like no matter what Newt said, he wouldn't change the fact that Grindelwald was already sold on the idea that Newt was the one responsible. Still, Newt defended himself with a stiff, “There's no way. Why would I do such a thing?”

“There are _many_ reasons why, Scamander,” Grindelwald leered, casually approaching the foot of Newt's bed with his head held high and a winning smirk on his face, “ _You_ were the one who started the riots in the first place. You were arrested at one, in fact! When you didn't gather enough support as fast as you pleased, you upped the ante and set an explosive off in the middle of the day. You _killed eight students,_ not to mention the others who were heavily injured!”

“That wasn't me!” Newt argued just as loudly.

“It was, and we both know it!” Grindelwald spat, jutting a stern finger in Newt's direction, “And once I gather the evidence, I'll put you down like the scum you are.”

“There is no evidence!” Newt huffed, eyes wide, “I didn't set the bomb!”

Scoffing, Grindelwald growled out, “I don't care what you say. I'm not going to rest until you're nothing more than a memory. I'll make sure you will never leave this room alive.”

“You're insane!” Newt blurted, “You can't do this to me—I demand a lawyer!”

“Go ahead! No one is going to be able to save you from this hole you dug yourself into!” Grindelwald grinned, and that seemed to be the final straw. Standing up to her full height, the doctor approached Grindelwald and set her hands on her hips.

“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You're causing the patient unnecessary stress!” She declared, and Grindelwald turned a shocked look in her direction. Where others may have quaked, this Dr. Roche remained surly, either out of confidence in herself or ignorance of Grindelwald's personality. When Grindelwald opened his mouth to argue, she cut him off with a sharp, “ _Leave_.” She even paired it with a firm jab in the direction of the door, “And take your _brutes_ with you.”

Grindelwald actually wavered. He took a step back and blinked in shock. Being told to go not only once but twice without a second of doubt was new to Grindelwald it seemed, and he didn't know what to do. Instead of lashing out he obeyed, although he gave one last threatening, “I'll be back for you, Scamander.” Then, without looking at his men, he ordered his guards, “Come on.”

He stepped out first, followed closely by one officer and the guards by the door. Roscuro, however, lingered behind, and even though Dr. Roche crossed her arms and stared him down, Roscuro was caught looking down at Newt. Newt, meanwhile, felt calm and anxious all at once.

Quietly, as if worried that Grindelwald was just lurking behind the door and listening, Newt whispered, “Cre... dence?”

Roscuro didn't move answer, not vocally at least. His hands squeezed into tight fists, the leather gloves creaking between his fingers. Newt trembled where he sat, tugging a bit on the cuff on his wrist. Roscuro began to shake, and Newt felt a sudden wave of certainty wash over him.

His eyes welled with tears while his heart rocketed in his chest. He didn't understand how this was possible. He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Credence was _alive_. After half a year, he was alive. Roscuro only looked more tense, especially when the tears fell from Newt's eyes, and although Newt felt shocked and happy and blessed, he blurted angrily, “Why—Why haven't you said anything? Why didn't you tell us?”

Roscuro remained silent, and even though he hadn't said a word thus far, his voicelessness seemed especially aggravating now. With tears still running down his face, Newt whispered, “I—I can't believe—I mean—Is it really you? C-can you just—just tell me?”

Roscuro took a deep breath and stood stiffly. Newt felt his lips tremble and his jaw clench, his silence physically hurting him. Impatiently, Newt begged, “Just _tell me_!”

“Roscuro!” Grindelwald's voice shouted from a distance, and the officer jumped to attention, head twisting towards the door, “Lets. Go!”

Hesitantly, Roscuro began to step towards the door. Newt huffed in disbelief, his heart telling him that this was Credence without a doubt, yet his mind coming up with every single argument against that fact. His chest ached and his stomach churned, so he turned his head away and waited for the door to shut.

When he heard it click, he lifted his gaze, fully expecting Roscuro to have left. However, much to Newt's surprise, Roscuro was standing right beside his bed, hands trembling with nerves. Newt felt his breath catch. He moved to lift his hand, but the cuff caught him mid-action. Instead of letting it drop back down, however, Roscuro caught his hand with his own, lacing their fingers together and giving a firm squeeze. Newt's lashes fluttered as he looked up at Roscuro, hope swelling in his chest so quickly he couldn't even breathe. Squeezing back, Newt asked once again, just as softly, “Credence?”

Roscuro's grip tightened again and then, with just the slightest twitch of a muscle, he nodded.

Newt didn't know what to do with himself. He wanted to laugh and cry. He wanted to pull Credence down and kiss him senseless but he wanted to hold him to his chest and never let go as well. He wanted to yell at Credence for never trying to tell them, but also he wanted to tell him that it was okay, that everything was forgiven, that he _loved him_. He was sure his face had gone through a series of ugly expressions. The noise that came from the back of his throat was embarrassing at the least, but he couldn't care less, not when he had Credence there. God, wait until he told Percival!

His excitement was cut short when Grindelwald pounded on the door, yelling through it, “Roscuro! Get your ass out here _now_!”

Suddenly, Newt's happiness was sucked dry. Desperately he clung to Credence, but he pulled away regardless, keeping his gaze on Newt for a long moment before he headed for the door. Just as he was settling his hand on the knob, Newt whispered, “I l-love you...”

Credence paused, only for a second, then pulled the door open and stepped out, right into Grindelwald's grasp.

When the door closed again, Dr. Roche took a breath, then looked at Newt pitifully before saying, “If it counts for anything, I believe you.”

Newt blinked, taken off guard, and he blurted out, “Wh-what?”

“I believe you. I know you didn't plant the bomb.” Dr. Roche clarified, brows furrowed, “Nobody would have sustained as many wounds as you have if they planted the bomb. Not unless they were trying to kill themselves with it.” Approaching his bedside, Dr. Roche said, “And you don't seem the kind who wants to die.”

“Oh,” Newt breathed, bringing up his free hand to wipe his tears away, trying to gather himself, “Um... thank you.”

Dr. Roche smiled, then said, “I hope you're not too rattled by all of that.”

“Oh?” Newt sniffed, although he certainly felt overwhelmed.

“You have some other visitors who have been waiting patiently to hear about you.” Dr. Roche smiled, and Newt immediately perked up. It must be Percival, he thought. He suddenly felt eager to see his older partner, excited to tell him the news. Seeing Newt's eyes clear with excitement, Dr. Roche grinned and said, “I'll go get them since you seem to be doing fine. Just try not to hurt your wrist anymore, okay?”

“O-Okay. Okay.” Newt nodded quickly, watching as she and her nurse left the room. Alone once more, Newt reclined back in his bed and tried to process what had just happened.

A bomb was set off at school. He ended up in the hospital and under suspicion of planting said bomb. Credence was alive.

God, Newt felt the tears well again. Credence was _alive_.

But how? Newt didn't know. He saw Credence walk into the kill hall. Saw him enter those metal doors that Newt thankfully exited from. He saw the haggard expression on his face, the grim acceptance on Percival's the day after.

Did Grindelwald know? He had to. So why bring Credence here? Surely someone else would notice. One of the guards, maybe. Even if Credence didn't speak to any of them, one of them was bound to see Credence without his mask. One of them was bound to recognize him as Mary Lou's son.

Grindelwald couldn't have been that brash. He had to have at least a modicum of self-preservation. He had to realize what a terrible idea it was to bring him here. Either he didn't actually know or he was more arrogant than Newt realized. The redhead huffed, struggling to believe that it was anything other than Grindelwald's arrogance.

Breaking him out of his train of thought was the door opening again, and Newt perked up right away, fully expecting Percival to be standing there, perhaps a little mad and a little stressed but mostly relieved. He put a reassuring smile on his face, preparing for Percival's inevitable lecture, but he was confronted with the haggard, harried face of his older brother Theseus.

“Newton Artemis Fido Scamander!” Theseus tried to scold, but his voice was far too breathy, far too relieved. He stomped his way into the room and didn't even give Newt a moment to process what was happening before he was wrapping his arms around him. “You damned fool! I can't let you out of my sight for a second! You—You had me so—so—urgh!” Theseus held Newt tighter, squeezing his little brother against his chest as he fought back tears of relief. Newt squirmed in Theseus' tight hold, his own eyes growing wet once more, and he tentatively returned the crushing hug.

“I-I'm okay, Theseus,” Newt said gently, but it only made Theseus sob against his ear.

“You were nearly blown to bits!” Theseus argued, pulling back enough to look Newt over, scowling deeply at the bandages covering his forehead and the burns on his face and arms, “Bloody hell, just look at you...” With a deep sigh, Theseus tucked his forehead against Newt's closing his eyes and merely holding his little brother close, “I'm.... so glad you're okay.”

Newt bit back his tears. He tried to clear his throat to subdue them, but even that noise sounded wet. Still trying to peer up at Theseus' face, even from the close distance, Newt asked, “What are you doing here, Theseus? I thought you were mad at me...”

With a groan, Theseus said, “I'm not mad at you, Newt. I was never mad at you.”

“Then why didn't you come see me? Why didn't you try to call me?” Newt questioned, brows furrowed, and Theseus pulled back enough so that they could have this conversation eye-to-eye. He looked meek, Newt realized. And a little embarrassed.

“I thought you were upset with me,” Theseus explained softly, if not a touch ashamed, “I didn't want to seem pushy so I... I thought I'd wait until you contacted me first. And then I didn't hear from you for months and I.... I guess I thought you were doing just fine without me.”

“Theseus,” Newt huffed, feeling his older brother's pain in his chest.

“I guess I was just being stubborn too,” Theseus pushed on, “I wanted you to come to me first. Wanted to say 'I told you so' when things with Percival didn't work out. But... well, I guess they did, didn't they? You're... you're growing up so fast, Newt. I guess I never realized how quickly you would become an adult.”

“Oh—Stop it, you daft man,” Newt blurted, feeling his face heat up from the light name-calling, feeling so awkward after not speaking to his brother for a half-year, “Just because I'm grown doesn't mean I'm shutting you out. We're... we're all we got, you know.”

Theseus blinked back tears, but a watery smile stretched across his face regardless and Newt felt a weight lift from his chest. All of a sudden, Newt felt like he could breathe easier than he had that entire school year. When Theseus pulled Newt into another hug, Newt returned it without hesitation, and he even smiled when Theseus said to him, “I love you, little brother.”

A soft _tap-tap_ on the door urged Theseus to pull away, the two Scamanders looking at the newcomer curiously. Upon finally seeing Percival there, Newt smiled and relaxed fully, while Theseus looked ready to bolt. Percival returned Newt's soft smile, although his eyes were heavy with dark bags underneath them, exhaustion making the crows feet at the corners more prominent than usual. He stepped into the room and said in a gruff tone, “I figured I'd let him see you first. I knew the two of you have a lot to talk about, but I got a little impatient. How are you?”

“Sore,” Newt grinned, then he gestured to his cuff and added, “I don't think bail is going to get me out of this one. Grindelwald is certain _I_ set the bomb.”

“What?” Theseus blurted, looking at his brother while he settled more comfortably atop Newt's bed, sitting at the edge, “Is he delusional? What reason have you got to do such a thing?”

“I haven't a clue. He claims I dd it because of the protests.” Newt explained, glancing at Percival as he settled himself down in a seat beside Newt and Theseus, not caring about the older Scamander's discomfort.

“That bastard just doesn't know when to leave things be,” Percival grunted, slumping into the chair as if he had constantly been on his feet up until that moment. “They'll be reviewing the security footage right now. As soon as they see you had nothing to do with it, they'll let you go.”

“But there aren't any cameras in the classrooms, I thought? I was at my desk when the first explosion went off.” Newt pointed out, but Percival still looked at ease.

“True, but they'll be able to find the person who _did_ set the bombs. Or at least, they'll see that you weren't off sneaking around the campus. They won't be able to pin anything on you, no matter what Grindelwald says.” Percival reassured him, his eyes looking heavy and his words sounding practiced as if he had been repeating them.

“You're certain about that?” Theseus asked anxiously, looking between Newt and Percival, “Because if you're not one hundred percent certain, I won't hesitate to move us to another country.”

“You won't have to take it that far,” Percival chuckled, lazily looking Theseus' way, “Even if worse comes to worse and Newt goes to court, I have friends in very high places. I can find Newt a handful of lawyers that can get him a not-guilty verdict.”

Theseus, still looking skeptical, turned to his brother and asked, “Do you trust this man?”

To which Newt replied without a doubt, “With my life. Which, ironically, is exactly what's on the line.”

Although Theseus didn't seem to like it, he settled his hands on his knees and muttered, “Fine. I'll hold off on running away to Canada. But if things look bad, I'm taking Newt, no questions.”

“Understood. I'll let you know when to start packing.” Percival agreed, and it seemed like his compliance to keep Newt safe above all else was what really won Theseus over. The elder Scamander relaxed even more and even held out a hand to shake. Percival took the offer with a tired smile.

“Water under the bridge?” Percival queried, and Theseus's lips pursed before he nodded.

“Does this mean you'll come over for the holidays?” Newt asked, wide-eyed, and Theseus gave him an apologetic smile.

“Of course. Either that, or you'll come to mine.” Theseus offered, earning an eager grin from his brother.

They talked about lighthearted things, wanting to keep the air casual and pleasant between the three of them. They didn't want to think about Grindelwald or the explosions or the cuff around Newt's wrist. Newt held back on bringing up Credence to Percival since Theseus was still there. He felt that such a conversation should be held in private, between himself and his partner. He didn't want Theseus butting in on what was sure to be a very sensitive conversation.

Their whimsical energy kept their spirits up. Dr. Roche and her nurses took care of Newt for the duration of his stay, making sure he stay clean and comfortable and, more importantly, his injuries remained under control.

“What happens if I'm released before they clear my name?” Newt asked Dr. Roche one day when Percival and Theseus had left for the day.

“Usually they move suspects into a holding cell,” Dr. Roche explained casually, taking a close look at the head injury Newt sustained, pleased at his recovery, “But you shouldn't worry yourself over that. I will not release a patient if I believe they still require my care.” Looking at Newt with a sly smile, Dr. Roche said, “And, despite how quickly you are healing, I'm worried about internal injuries. Sometimes after a traumatic experience, symptoms won't show until days, sometimes even _weeks_ after the incident. I'd like you to remain close at hand in case any of these symptoms make an appearance.”

Blinking owlishly and feeling at a loss for words, Newt uttered a genuine, “Thank you...”

Winking at him mischievously, Dr. Roche stood from Newt's bedside and headed for the door. “Get some rest, Mr. Scamander. Head injuries can be a silent killer. Another reason why I want to keep you close.”

Laughing a little, Newt settled back in his bed and got comfortable. He closed his eyes just as his door clicked shut and felt himself already beginning to doze off when a ruckus grew just outside his room. He only heard muffled voices at first, barely enough to rouse him completely. When those voices began to yell, however, Newt blinked his eyes open and pushed himself back up.

His door was blown open so suddenly that Newt jumped where he sat, and in less than three long strides, Grindelwald was towering over him, being held back just barely by Roscuro's hands wrapped tightly around his arm.

“You damned boy! I know it was you!” Grindelwald spat out, the volume of his voice setting Newt a-trembling already, even though he hardly knew what the man was talking about. “I know you're the one behind all of this! I don't care who set the bomb— _you're_ the one responsible! And I swear, I _swear_ , I will stop at _nothing_ until you are behind bars or on death row!”

Roscuro pulled harder at Grindelwald's arm, trying to get him to step back even more, but this only redirected the man's anger to him, and with a snarl on his face, Grindelwald reeled a hand back and struck Roscuro across his masked face, effortlessly throwing the officer to the ground and sending his mask skittering across the floor.

“No!” Newt shouted, trying to scramble out of the bed, but the cuff on his wrist and the IV in his arm held him back. Desperate, Newt shouted, “Keep your hands off of him!”

“Oh, shut up!” Grindelwald sneered, kicking Roscuro's mask towards the officer then turned to the door. Roscuro grabbed his mask with a shaking hand and slowly pulled it on, only raising his head when it was securely in place.

Newt watched him get to his feet, heart pounding away in his chest, and when the officer seemed steady, Newt asked, “Are you okay?”

Roscuro swallowed at the question, shoulders stiff and stance meek, but he offered a nod anyways. Newt wasn't convinced, but there wasn't much he could do from his bed. Desperate to comfort him, Newt whispered, “As soon as I'm out of here, I'll do everything I can to get you out too.”

Roscuro didn't respond, but Newt didn't really expect him to. In his silence, Newt promised him, “I'll bring you home again. I swear it.”

“Roscuro, you idiot, let's go!” Grindelwald shouted from down the hall, and Roscuro scrambled to obey. Newt watched with an aching heart as the officer slipped from his grasp once again.

When a nurse showed up with a key in hand, Newt asked him, “Who set the bomb?”

As the nurse uncuffed him, he answered, “Mary Lou's daughter. Chastity Barebone.”

Newt let out a short breath, mind filled with his brief memory of her, remembering his reluctance to hear her out about Credence because he was certain that the boy was dead. Even _she_ was certain he was dead. She thought he was haunting her. She had really seemed scared when he last saw her, but for her to go this far... she must have been driven mad.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Newt rubbed his sore wrist and thanked the nurse for freeing him. Later on that afternoon, Dr. Roche discharged him, and Percival was there to pick him up. The man had brought Newt fresh clothes so he didn't have to wear his tattered outfit, and when they were on their way home, Percival said kindly, “I told you they'd have nothing on you.”

“Yeah...” Newt mumbled, still thinking about Chastity, still thinking about Credence, wondering just how Chastity had gone so far off the handle. He was so lost in his own thoughts that when Percival reached out to him and took his hand, Newt nearly jumped back to reality. Smiling, Newt slid their fingers together, then squeezed his hand.

“Everything alright over there?” Percival asked him, glancing Newt's way in between paying attention to the road. Newt smiled a bit more and held Percival's hand close.

“Yeah,” He told him. And then, because he knew he was just going to burst if he didn't bring it up, he told Percival, “I have something to tell you when we get home.”

“Oh really?” Percival hummed, a curious smile on his lips, “And what would that be?”

Newt laughed and emphasized, “I said when we get home! Does this look like home to you?”

In a sudden moment of vulnerability, Percival replied, “Wherever you wander off to, that's my home.”

Newt was touched, but he had no clue how to respond. He sat there in silence, lips parted and eyes wide. Percival flushed with embarrassment, and in an effort to return to something lighter, Percival mentioned, “If you're going to leave me for that nurse that gave you a sponge bath, tell me now.”

Newt blushed himself, deciding to file away Percival's words for later speculation before replying, “Absolutely not. I'm spoken for, you know.”

Smiling at Newt's response, Percival got comfortable in his seat and allowed the conversation to die down. Newt continued to hold Percival's free hand, enjoying the warmth, the gentle whisper of a heartbeat in his palm.

Newt didn't bring up Credence until they had settled back in at home. The school was closed while repairs were being done, so Newt and Percival didn't have to worry about work at the moment. Percival mentioned that class would be resuming before the buildings were back in one piece, but it still wouldn't be for at least a week. The night back from the hospital, Percival prepared a quick dinner for them and they ate in the living room, the coffee table holding their plates and the couch as their backrest while they sat on the floor. As they picked at their food, Percival looked at Newt and asked, “What did you want to tell me?”

Immediately, Newt became flustered. Struggling to string the words together, Newt admitted, “There isn't really an easier way to say this...” and at that, Percival became more alert. This was going to be a serious conversation, he realized, and he was ready for it. Newt took in a long, deep breath, then finally blurted out, “Credence is alive.”

Percival blinked. His face remained stony and he blinked again. Newt waited with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes wide and hopeful. Percival took in a long breath, one hand coming up to rub anxiously at his mouth, and he blinked a third time.

“That isn't funny.” He finally said, and Newt quickly shook his head.

“I'm not joking. Credence is alive.” Newt said again, putting a hand on Percival's thigh, “He's alive and he's masquerading as Roscuro.”

Percival froze for a moment, a dark look crossing his face, and then he mumbled, “Ah. I see.” Newt smiled, thinking Percival was finally catching on, but then the man was saying, “He was the one who got you out of the school. Not to mention he filled Credence's place in our relationship...”

“What?” Newt shook his head, bewildered, “Percival, I'm being serious. I saw his face back when he saved me! He took his mask off in front of me!”

“You sustained a pretty bad head injury,” Percival said in a monotone voice, brows furrowed, “All of that smoke couldn't have been good for you either.”

Baffled, Newt asked, “Are you serious?”

“Maybe I should call the hospital. Obviously, they overlooked something.” Percival mumbled, already pushing himself to his feet, but Newt threw out an arm and grabbed Percival by the wrist.

Yanking him back down to a seated position, Newt looked Percival in the eye and said in his most serious, most convincing tone he could muster, “Percival. I am _not_ joking. I _know_ what I saw. Roscuro is _Credence_!”

Percival stared back at him, silent and unmoved. Newt's gaze flickered between Percival's eyes, mentally willing the man to just _believe_ him, but Percival was unbreakable. With a firm jerk, Percival tore his arm from Newt's grip and proceeded to stand. “We're done talking about this.” He declared, walking away from Newt, “If you don't want me to call the hospital, don't bring him up again.”

Percival left the room after that. He had had enough of Newt's antics and he needed to cool down before he did something he'd regret. Newt, however, only felt stubbornly determined by Percival's reluctance. He didn't chase after the man, however. He waited, a tad impatiently, but he waited.

He kept his mouth shut all the way until he and Percival were settling down for the night, Percival still sour from their earlier conversation and expressing it in the distance he put between himself and Newt. Newt, meanwhile, got comfortable where he lay, turned his head to look at Percival, then asked, “Why is it so impossible for Credence to still be alive?”

Percival gave a heavy sigh but didn't immediately answer. Newt instead continued with, “Do you even know what they do with the bodies?”

“Yes,” Percival finally retorted, sounding just as exhausted as he looked, “They burn them.”

But Newt wasn't backing down for a second. “That's a lot of bodies to burn,” He pointed out, and although he knew he was treading on dangerous territory, he couldn't leave it be, “And yet America constantly totes how eco-friendly it's been. How can a country minimize their carbon footprint while still cremating five percent of their population?”

“What else would they do with them, then?” Percival questioned, frowning over at Newt.

“I don't know,” Newt admitted, “But I don't think they're killing them.”

Huffing, Percival turned his back to the young man and angrily tucked himself around his pillow. “Goodnight,” He muttered stiffly, putting an end to the conversation. Newt set his jaw in a firm line, feeling the vein at his temple pulse with irritation, but he let the conversation die nonetheless.

But he would be damned if Percival thought he would be letting it go.

When they were getting dressed for their day in, Newt asked Percival, “Have you ever seen them take the bodies to be cremated?” And Percival ignored him.

When the show they watched broke for commercials, Newt turned to Percival and asked, “Do you even know _where_ they cremate the bodies?”

While Percival was cooking and Newt was setting the table, Newt asked over his shoulder, “I mean, doesn't Roscuro just feel so familiar somehow? Hasn't he always felt familiar?”

During dinner, mid-chew, Newt asked, “Have you ever seen any of those officers without masks besides Grindelwald?”

Even while Newt washed dishes and Percival dried them and put them away, Newt said, “Do you even hear about officer training camps or schools? I've never once heard anyone mention becoming an officer. How do they get so many men and women if no one wants to be one?”

Finally, just as the two of them were laying in bed, Newt turned to Percival and opened his mouth, but Percival spoke before Newt could utter a word. “Okay!” He declared in an exasperated tone, dropping his book onto his lap and snatching the glasses from his nose, “Okay. You want to talk about this? Fine.”

Excited at finally being heard, Newt sat up and said, “Credence _is_ Roscuro.”

“Credence is dead and Roscuro is someone completely different.” Percival argued, meeting Newt's gaze with his own tired eyes, “You're stuck on this fantasy because Roscuro replaced Credence in our relationship before you moved on _and_ he pulled you out of a crumbling building. You're glorifying him and the best way your mind can figure out how to do that is to pretend he's someone he's not.”

“Credence took his mask off and put it on me when he saved me from the school. I saw his face when we got out. _It's him_ , Percival. I know it's him.” Newt said in retaliation, but Percival only rolled his eyes.

“You were unconscious when Roscuro brought you to us. You dreamt what you saw.”

“No. Even in the hospital, when it was just us, I asked him if he was Credence and he said yes!” Newt claimed.

“He can't _talk_.”

“He _nodded!_ ”

“And do you have proof?” Percival huffed, glowering at Newt, “Because you could have very well dreamt that, too.”

Newt hesitated, eyes wide, but then he grinned and said, “Dr. Roche. She was there the whole time.”

Disbelieving, Percival asked, “So if I were to call the doctor right now--?”

“She wouldn't lie! She saw me ask him if he was Credence. She saw him nod!” Newt answered confidently, but when Percival reached towards his phone charging on the nightstand, Newt grabbed him by the wrist and asked in a panic, “What are you doing?!”

“I'm going to call Dr. Roche,” Percival said flatly, as if there was nothing else he could have been doing.

“Are you daft? It's the middle of the night!” Newt huffed, and Percival allowed Newt to pull him back into place, “Just because you want to prove me wrong doesn't mean you can wake the woman up!”

“Doctors work odd hours. I can call the hospital and see if she's on her shift.” Percival reasoned, but Newt still didn't let him go.

“We can ask her in the morning,” Newt reassured, looking into Percival's eyes, “Until then, answer me honestly; If Credence is alive, then who _else_ is?”

“Nobody else, because Credence is _not_ alive,” Percival grumbled, eyebrows twitching.

“Then just humor me!” Newt insisted, nudging Percival in the arm, “It can't just be him, can it?”

With a heavy sigh, Percival replied, “Do you know how much Grindelwald would be risking if he kept Credence alive? There's no way he'd keep anyone else alive.”

“So then why would he risk keeping Credence alive?” Newt wondered, laying down on his side of the bed, tucking an arm under his head so he could keep looking at Percival.

“He wouldn't.” Percival grunted, lying down as well, although this time he stayed on his back, “Grindelwald is an egotistical maniac, but he isn't careless.”

“Maybe not, but he's overconfident. I bet he thinks he could get away with something this nefarious.” Newt argued, brows furrowed, “He was obsessed with Credence before the Thinning. I can't help but think that... that if he had a chance to keep Credence to himself, he'd take it.”

“So, what, you think he convinced his officers to just let this slide? You don't think they'd report it to anyone?” Percival pointed out fairly, but Newt only shrugged.

“I mean, who else _can_ they report to? Isn't Grindelwald the man in charge?”

“Of this district, sure,” Percival confirmed, “But that doesn't mean there aren't other districts they can go to.”

“And what would _they_ do? Who would _they_ report to?” Newt queried, and this made Percival hesitate. Thinking about it for a long while, the man admitted softly:

“I... I'm not sure. Their governor? The police?” He suggested, but Newt didn't look impressed.

“If Grindelwald can convince his men to not only let Credence live but to attack students who are peacefully protesting and kill those who fail, what makes you think he couldn't convince them to fight and die for him?” And then, just because the thought was just ludicrous enough to warrant mentioning, Newt even suggested, “And how do we know Grindelwald's influence doesn't extend to the other districts?”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Percival said, “Now you're just grasping at smoke. It's not convincing me more or less that Credence is alive _and_ that he's actually Roscuro.”

“Then what would?” Newt pushed, stubbornly determined, “There has to be something I can show you. Credence had to have shown some sort of subconscious characteristic. Something distinctly him. Or maybe he has a birthmark somewhere? Uniquely shaped or placed?”

Rolling his eyes, Percival said dismissively, “Credence was quiet and subdued. There wasn't a thing about him that made him stand out. He wore the same style of clothing every day, had skin as pale and spotless as porcelain, and held himself so rigidly you could mistake him for a marble statue. The only way you could pick him out of a crowd was if he wanted you to.”

Shaking his head, Newt insisted, “There's no way that's _all_ he was. He interested you. You _love_ him.” Finding Percival's hand on top of the blankets, Newt laced their fingers together and urged, “Think of the little things. The things that made you fall for him.”

Percival gave Newt a cold look at first. It hurt, and Newt knew it, but this was important to the redhead. And if this was important to him, then Percival could at least try.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Percival stared up at the ceiling and let his mind fill with memories and thoughts of Credence. Even after half a year, Credence's face was so crisp in Percival's mind. His rigid stature when sitting behind his desk. The shy, self-conscious way he tucked his shoulders up towards his ears whenever another student drew too close to him. The deeply hidden spark he had in those dark eyes of his when he approached Percival for help so many years ago, even though his hands shook and sweat beaded at his temples. Percival felt a smile tug on his lips, small but there. Credence had been so scared of him, so intimidated. Percival felt his heart bleed for the poor thing, he couldn't _not_ help him.

Closing his eyes, he remembered how frustrated Credence got over the work they covered, how he squeezed the pencil tightly in his fist and clenched his jaw until his teeth squeaked. It was the only time he ever showed any sort of extreme emotion, and he still kept it under such a tight leash that Percival had to squint to see it. When his frustration grew too much, Credence became despondent and vanished within himself, body slack and eyes blank with hopelessness. The first time it happened, Percival had to reach out and touch him to make sure he was still with him, make sure the strain hadn't killed him.

And Credence completely unraveled at the feeling of Percival's warm hand on his skin. The soft sigh he gave and the way his eyes fluttered shut made heat curl in the pit of Percival's stomach. When his wine-red lips parted and his head tilted backward, Percival could feel his blood boil. When Credence opened his eyes and looked at Percival, they made a connection, and Credence understood what he wanted. He understood, and he wanted it too.

Their first kiss was dangerous, the door unlocked and faculty members and officers still wandering around the campus. They stayed seated in their own chairs, kept their hands to themselves, and allowed only their lips to press for a short time. Credence was starstruck and Percival felt his confidence soar. Suddenly this old, haggard man felt sexy and desirable and lustful, and his eyes drew to Credence as if he were magnetized. Credence tried to keep his head down in class. He tried to be a good boy and listen to Percival's lectures. He tried, but Percival could see him squirm under his attention. His pale cheeks would burn red like his lips, his dark eyes would sparkle with subdued mischief, and he would fiddle restlessly with whatever was on his desk, his hands unable to stop moving even for a moment. It made Percival feel powerful, made him feel like, with a snap of his fingers, Credence would do anything for him.

He tested it. He pushed Credence. He made him do things he didn't think he would have ever asked a partner to do. At first, it was little things; sit here in class or eat this for lunch or even let me touch you here. Percival pushed his limits, seeing how far he could go before Credence wormed out of his grip. And it turned out, much to Percival's delight, he was able to push the boy _quite_ far.

He didn't think he would have his hand sliding down the front of Credence's slacks so quickly, but there they were, Credence's hips twitching awkwardly while Percival jerked him off for the first time. He thought that maybe Credence would stop him when he pulled the boy to his knees and forced himself down his throat, especially when Credence coughed and choked and gasped for breath, but the moment Credence gathered himself from the shock, he was sinking back down again and fighting against his gag reflex to take all of him. When Percival twisted Credence's arms behind his back and bent him over his desk, Credence spread his legs wide and let the man eat him out, shivering in pleasure the entire time. The only time Credence ever showed resistance was when Percival first made love to him, and only then it was because he was afraid that he was _dirty_. It took a lot of coaxing, a lot of sweet, tear-filled kisses and gentle touches to convince him otherwise. Or rather, convince him enough that he wrapped his legs around Percival's hips and bit down on his sleeve while the older man slid into place.

From there, it was only a matter of time before Credence was crawling to Percival himself, sliding onto his lap and grinding on the man, trying to convey exactly what he wanted while blinking innocent eyes and pouting his lips. Percival could barely stand even a second without touching Credence. Class became torture, and he could only find satisfaction in the knowledge that Credence was suffering right alongside him.

But despite all of that, despite all of the memories, he couldn't think of a single thing that would make Percival think 'yes, this is definitely Credence.' Nothing short of seeing his face would convince Percival that Roscuro and Credence were one in the same.

Opening his eyes once more, Percival admitted, “I can't think of a single thing.”

Newt frowned and he squeezed Percival's hand in reassurance. “Maybe it won't come so easily, but I know you can think of something.”

Feeling morose, Percival mumbled, “No. And it doesn't matter anyway. Credence is dead.”

Newt frowned deeper, his brows dipping low and his grip tightening. This time, however, he decided to leave it be. He pestered Percival enough about this... for today. He would try again when the man wasn't so wound up.

Morning finally came, finding Newt eating his breakfast groggily at the table while Percival stood by the brewing coffee machine, cell phone in hand and finger poised over the call button. The number to the hospital had been typed in already, but he was frozen with hesitation. He wanted to call, but he already felt like he knew the outcome. He knew that no matter what this doctor might tell him, his mind would remain unchanged.

When the coffee finished brewing and the last few drops fell into the pot, Newt lifted his head from his plate and peered curiously at Percival, noting his statuesque stance. Settling his fork down, Newt inquired softly, “Are you going to call?”

Percival held the phone tightly, trying to urge himself to call, to convince himself that this might change something, that he might fall for the trickery Newt had so pitifully entrapped himself in. His finger hovered over the button, but he still did not press. Finally, with a sort of reluctant sigh, Percival replied gruffly, “No. It's not going to change how I feel. It's not going to convince me otherwise.”

Newt sat there at the table, eyes on Percival and mind reeling in thought. “What will?” He asked, but Percival could only shake his head. There was nothing, he thought, that would convince Percival that Credence was alive. Even seeing him standing there, breathing and speaking to him, Percival wouldn't believe it. Anyone could look like Credence, but no one could replace him, not really. Percival wouldn't be tricked.

As if reading the doubt in Percival's body language, Newt said, “There has to be something that will change your mind.”

“There's nothing.” Percival groused slowly, emphasizing his words by placing his phone firmly on the countertop. He could hear Newt suck in a breath between his teeth, could feel the tense air from where he stood, two yards away, but he remained stoic.

“Not my word, not the doctor's...” Newt thought aloud, frustrated but far from giving up, “What about Credence's?”

“Newt,” Percival sighed, head dropping, exhaustion overwhelming.

“When school starts again, I'll prove it,” Newt promised, brows pinched in a crease, “I'll make Credence admit it. One way or another, you'll see.”

All Percival could do was sigh.

 

 


	12. December

The school took more than a week to be repaired back to something sustainably safe. During the two and a half weeks it was closed, however, the school board remained active, and with them, the district officers. More specifically, Grindelwald.

Three days before the school was finally scheduled to be opened, Grindelwald stood with Principal Picquery in her office. He was accompanied by Credence and Samson, while she was accompanied by the Superintendent, a much older and, in Grindelwald's opinion, more bearable Mr. Graves, Sr.

“Your worries are appreciated but unneeded,” Principal Picquery said, smoothly leaning back in her leather upholstered chair while crossing one leg over the other, shifting her tight pencil-skirt just slightly. One elbow rested comfortably on the armrest, fingers intertwined with the other hand, completely at ease, “The terrorist was captured not long after the explosion thanks to you and your officers. There is no longer a threat.”

Grindelwald smiled as genuinely as he could at the compliment, but still argued his point, “I appreciate your faith in me, ma'am, but saying there is no longer a threat is foolhardy at best.” Standing opposite to Piqcuery and Graves Sr., Grindelwald folded his arms behind his back and explained, “If I may be so blunt, all we have done is cover up the issue, not address it. You cannot assume a rat problem has been subdued if you capture one measly mouse. You have to eradicate them from the source.”

“And you believe there is a source to eradicate?” Graves Sr. asked, his voice deep like his son's but far colder, far more disciplined than him. His black eyes were devoid of any emotion as if he breathed professionalism right from his lungs. He sat beside Picquery, both arms splayed out, feet planted firmly on the carpeted floor at a comfortable distance. He made Picquery's office feel like _his_ office, even if the placard on the desk had her name engraved on it.

“I do, Superintendent Graves. And I want to address it today.” Grindelwald claimed, taking a step forward, making sure their eyes were on him and only him, “This bombing was not an attack on our school—not entirely.” Picquery's eyes widened just a fraction while Graves Sr. narrowed his in speculation, “This was an attack on one specific person, someone who has wormed his way to popularity through the media. Someone who we allowed to slip through our fingers without worry and who has turned right around and stabbed us in the back.”

Snapping his fingers, Grindelwald prompted Samson to take a single step forward, closing the distance between herself and the man to allow for a single manila envelope to be exchanged between them. Credence watched the document change hands, curiosity piqued. He tried to keep his rigid stance all the while peering over Grindelwald's shoulder to see what was inside just as the man slapped the envelope onto the desk, allowing it and its contents to scatter open, photographs and documents all on one young man.

Graves Sr. leaned back in his seat, steely eyes frozen on the images. One hand came up to scrub at his chin, but it lingered on his jaw, fingers pressed tightly to the bone. Picquery reached a lazy hand forward to pluck one of the documents from the tabletop, speaking in an unimpressed tone, “Newton Scamander? The transfer from last year? You think he was the reason our school was bombed?”

“I do not think, ma'am. I know.” Grindelwald flaunted, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “The same year Newton Scamander immigrated to America, the same year he entered our school district and attended classes _here_ , our pass-fail system was breached.” Glancing at Graves Sr., Grindewald continued, “Failing students were given passing grades while passing students were selected to be culled. This was something that had never happened before. I believe that Newton had caused this system failure one way or another, but failed to ensure his own safety. When he was put on the chopping block, he allowed the incident to explode, leaking information to the media who blew the whole situation out of proportion.”

Baffled, Seraphina accused, “It sounds like you're accusing Newton Scamander of terrorism...”

“I am,” Grindelwald confirmed. Graves Sr. responded with a sharp, unimpressed scoff.

“I think you are avoiding the obvious,” Graves Sr. spoke calmly, unshaken by Grindelwald's bold claims, “The pass-fail system malfunctioned because we overestimated the validity of the results. By failing to review the outcome with a human eye, we allowed ourselves to be responsible for the mistake.” Eyeing Grindelwald coolly, Graves Sr. said plainly, “You want to avoid your responsibility by pointing fingers.”

Grindelwald's cocky grin twisted into an embarrassed grimace, lips pressed tight and face burning red. He tilted his chin high, trying to retain a semblance of confidence even though he looked thoroughly embarrassed. Credence may have gained the slightest satisfaction from the sight, but he would never admit it.

“Superintendent Graves, sir,” Grindelwald began with a breath, the hands behind his back twisting into shaking fists, knuckles turning white on air, “I am... familiar with what the public believes. However, I myself will not allow such a claim to go unproven. Our officers nor our system was the cause of the error.”

Shrugging dismissively, Graves Sr. nonchalantly included, “And nor was it the err of the faculty or the parents that these children failed in the first place. One cannot cure a bad seed, Mr. Grindelwald. Even after it has been sowed and cultivated. A groomed and pampered mutt doesn't change the bitch.”

Offended and aggravated, Grindelwald asked, “What are you saying? You think the system is faulty?”

“I'm merely implying that certain aspects need to be reevaluated,” Graves Sr. explained carefully, looking to Seraphina who looked just as concerned as Grindelwald looked angry, “Such as our curriculum, for starters. It's no secret that our district, in particular, has had a higher-than-normal Thinning Rate compared to other local districts in the past few years. And what have we done to fix it? Made the 10-241 harder?” Shaking his head, Graves Sr. concluded, “The public is demanding change, Mr. Grindelwald. The pass-fail system malfunction may not have been your fault or mine, but we cannot shift the blame now that the public has pointed the finger.”

With a tight jaw, Grindelwald declared, “I will _not_ allow my name to be _smeared_ like this. The malfunction was _not_ my fault.”

“No,” Graves Sr. agreed sarcastically, rolling his eyes in a careless moment, “It was a _teenager's_ fault. Isn't that right?”

Grindelwald stood frozen, tongue-tied in shock. Graves Sr. grunted as he got to his feet, straightening out his coat with quick movements of his hand, and Seraphina rose to meet him just as he extended his hand for her to shake. “Thank you both for taking the time to meet me here today,” He told Seraphina professionally, before turning to Grindelwald and again extending his hand, “Concerns aside, I look forward to your continued compliance.”

Grindelwald's hands squeezed tighter behind his back. Credence felt himself tensing, preparing for anything to happen in that moment. Mostly, he expected Grindelwald to reel back and strike Graves Sr. across the face. But looking at the man—so similar to Percival, yet so different as well—Credence wondered if Graves Sr. would even allow Grindelwald to bring him harm. He definitely seemed the sort of man who could defeat an opponent with nothing more than a glance. Credence was glad this was the man Grindelwald had to bow to.

Like a vicious dog reluctantly submitting, Grindelwald bit back his snarl and haltingly grasped Graves Sr.'s hand, giving it a single shake before releasing. With the words thick in his throat like bile, Grindelwald said, “Thank you for hearing me out today. We will be in touch.”

“Yes, we will.” Graves Sr. agreed, and Grindelwald's hackles raised further, though he did nothing about it except bite his tongue. While Graves Sr. corrected the length of his cuff, he remarked airily, “I believe it is time you and your men scurry back to the barracks. I will expect nothing but perfection when I arrive to reevaluate your team.”

Unable to hold himself back, Grindelwald questioned, “ _My_ team? Isn't it the pass-fail system that needs to be reevaluated?”

“That will come too. I am more interested in what our students are interacting with on a day-to-day basis, however.” Looking Grindelwald in the eye, Graves Sr. clarified, “And that includes you, Mr. Grindelwald.”

Mouth hanging open wordlessly, Grindelwald struggled to ask a simple, “When?”

And though he didn't smile, Credence saw the familiar crinkling around the eyes that Percival showed when he was pleased. Graves Sr. was smug, but he put on a very calm front as he said ominously, “In time.”

The air between them was tense, Grindelwald's jaw flexed tight and Graves Sr. remaining calm. Even when Grindelwald turned on his heel and marched out of the room, Graves Sr. stared Grindelwald down, letting the weight of his eyes follow the man out. Samson glanced at Credence, and they both followed their boss out.

They were barely exiting the hallway in the faculty building when Grindelwald snarled out, “That bastard thinks I'm in his pocket. Thinks I'm _his_ to control.”

“We will secure the barracks.” Samson spoke, obviously trying to cool the hot-tempered man guiding them, “Seal off the entrance to the Underground temporarily while we await his reevaluation. Make sure the officers we have topside are formidable.”

“Bah! It's too late for that,” Grindelwald argued, gesturing sharply with his arm as if he were swatting a fly. Samson even skittered back a step, though she hardly let her stride behind him fall. “He's suspicious. We can't allow him to remain Superintendent for much longer.”

Credence's brow furrowed and in a meek voice, he asked, “Why is it so bad to be reevaluated? He only wants to lower the fail-rate...”

Muttering under his breath for a moment, Grindelwald paused their walk and turned to Credence, getting right in his masked face and asking mockingly, “And where do you think we get our swine from?” When Credence didn't answer fast enough, Grindelwald huffed and turned forward again, resuming their quick pace, “If the failure rate drops, our production will as well. He has implied already that he plans on changing the pass-fail system. If he gets that chance, we'll lose control over everything.”

Finally, they stepped off campus and into the waiting truck, the three of them sitting in the unusually spacious back end. “Samson, I don't care how you do it, but you need to make sure Superintendent Graves' 'reevaluation' is postponed for as long as possible.”

“Yes, sir.” She affirmed obediently, not a question in her mind about it. Credence, however, was still concerned about one thing.

“And what about Newt?” He asked, shoulders hunched to his ears, “What was all that talk about him?”

“Simply put, that brat is a thorn in my side. He's been causing undue public attention to our officers ever since he stepped foot in America. The sooner we're rid of him, the better.” Grindelwald explained numbly, glaring out the back of the truck, eyes distant as he thought. “The louder he becomes, the more curious the superintendent will be... Samson, forget what I said earlier.”

“Sir?” She questioned, brows raised in surprise.

“Make Newton a priority,” Grindelwald ordered. Unlike before, however, Samson looked plenty confused.

“Sir...” She started hesitantly, glancing at him and Credence before offering, “Shouldn't we be more worried about the Superintendent? He has far more power than some immigrant.”

“Which means that 'immigrant' would be easier to take care of, wouldn't it?” Grindelwald snarled, making Samson click her jaw shut and merely nod in confirmation, “So then take care of it quickly so we can move on to bigger things.”

“Yes, sir.” She uttered, subdued. She kept her head down after that, not even stealing a glance at Credence who sat just as stiffly across from her. Now quiet, Grindelwald retreated into his own mind, contemplating and planning. Credence felt his heart pound, worried anew for his lovers.

When the school finally opened, only a third of the student body attended. The faculty was required to, of course, including Newton Scamander.

He, Percival, and Theseus arrived on campus at the same time. Theseus looked only at his brother with a smile, no matter how shaky it was. Newt replied in kind, feeling nervous and then ashamed of feeling nervous. They were brothers, he reminded himself, trying to be more genuine than he felt.

Percival placed a hand on the small of his back and lead him towards the school. Theseus didn't say a word about it, and Newt was relieved.

The building Percival's class had been in was still in shambles. Currently, construction workers covered from head to toe in safety gear were setting up rapports around the mess while others shoveled it away. The area was cordoned off, but even from the distance they were at, Newt and Percival were able to watch the spectacle.

“Why are they wearing gas masks?” Newt queried, holding his IGlass to his chest as he watched them.

“They're dust masks.” Percival corrected gently, stroking Newt's back, “So they don't breathe in anything dangerous.”

“And why aren't we wearing any?” Newt pressed, looking at Percival this time and seeing the man grimaced at the question.

“We'll... be inside all day. There's ventilation.” Percival pointed out, turning his head away from the construction as well and moving on quickly. Newt pressed his lips into a line, dissatisfied but settled. Percival was anxious to get to class and regain a sense of order in their hectic lives. Newt couldn't say he didn't feel the same, either.

As it was, they had been temporarily relocated to a new room in the main building. It was smaller than what they had before, but it would have to do. Newt no longer got a desk to himself—he merely had to pull up a chair to the side of Percival's desk. They had single-seat desks instead of lab tables. There weren't any sinks or first aid equipment. Percival set his briefcase down with a frown.

“I guess we're going to be sticking strictly to theory from this point on...” Percival muttered, looking around the shabby room. Annoyed, he clicked his tongue and muttered, “I'll have to rework the syllabus if this is what we're working with... Which means more homework.”

Since the students weren't yet present to express their disdain, Newt took responsibility and promptly groaned. “ _More_ homework?” He asked, looking at Percival with sad eyes, “That just means more work for _me_ to grade!”

“How else am I supposed to teach them?” Percival asked with a smirk, sliding into his own seat and turning towards Newt, “I can't have them handle dangerous substances in a room without a sink. What if they get something on their skin?”

“Then stick with something not-so-dangerous.” Newt huffed, resting both elbows on Percival's desk in an attempt to stealthily move closer to him, “We can paper mache a little volcano?”

“How childish,” Percival tutted, crossing his arms but unable to wipe the grin off his face, “Shall we also test out different toilet papers and see which retains the most moisture?”

“Oh, or we can hatch an egg!” Newt exclaimed excitedly, clapping his hands on the tabletop. With a sudden seriousness, Newt declared, “Percival! We _need_ to hatch an egg!”

“This isn't _biology_.” Percival snorted, lifting his brows, “We are talking about chemistry, Newton.”

Scoffing, Newt asked, “And _toilet paper_ is more _chemistry_ than _egg-hatching_?”

Percival opened his mouth to rebuke, but far before he could the door to their classroom swung open. Both he and Newt looked up, startled at the intrusion. Class started in fifteen minutes, no student would be so early.

But entering the room was no student. Instead, it was Roscuro, and he closed the door behind himself quickly. Newt immediately perked up, but Percival put a hand over the redhead's and said softly, “Newt, not here.”

“But-!” Newt began to argue, but Percival quickly silenced him with a look just as Roscuro made his way over.

“Good morning,” Percival greeted Roscuro, tilting his head up just as the officer ran a finger along his jaw, the leather cool on his rough skin. His thumb soon followed the curve of Percival's bottom lip, and then he pulled away and turned his attention to Newt.

“I'm glad to see you're okay,” Newt said kindly, turning his cheek against Roscuro's wandering hand so he could kiss the palm of his glove. Roscuro sighed, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He let go of Newt long enough to worm his way between the two of them and the desk, keeping a hand on them both as if he were afraid either one would get up and leave. Percival comforted him by stroking a hand thoughtlessly along Roscuro's thigh while Newt purposefully started to pluck Roscuro's glove off. Bemused, Roscuro watched him, allowing the redhead to slide the leather from his skin.

“Have you seen the room they gave me?” Percival began again, distracting Roscuro with conversation, “Not even a sink. I can't do a single experiment without a sink.”

“I _told_ you, we can hatch an egg!” Newt chimed in, and Percival rolled his eyes with an exaggerated huff. Roscuro's shoulder bounced, a quiet laugh coming from him. Newt set Roscuro's glove aside and stroked the back of his hand, relishing the skin-on-skin contact. It seemed to unwind the officer further as well.

“I hope work hasn't been too hectic,” Percival hummed, keeping Roscuro's attention, “You must have been all over the place what with this... bomb incident.”

Roscuro gave a small shrug, a bit dismissive. Newt's fingers began to crawl up his wrist and arm, rolling his sleeve back inch by inch. “You didn't get hurt, did you?” Newt asked softly, catching Roscuro's attention, “Did you get any injuries?”

When Roscuro shook his head no, Newt merely hummed and continued to explore what little skin he could. Roscuro's sleeve only rolled up so far, and when it wouldn't expose any more of the man's arm, Newt huffed and tugged Roscuro closer to him by the hips.

“Newton,” Percival tutted, already catching on to Newt's intentions. Roscuro, however, seemed content to let Newt explore, even when the redhead began to undo the clasps on his bulletproof vest. When the vest was opened enough, Newt tugged the shirt underneath from where it was tucked beneath his belt, exposing Roscuro's abdomen.

Roscuro's shoulders bounced in amusement, but he stilled Newt's hands with his own, freezing the redhead in his journey. When Newt rose his gaze, Roscuro squeezed his hands and shook his head.

“He's right. The bell is going to ring.” Percival hummed, arms crossed and eyes dark as he stared Newt down, “Get your hand out from under his shirt.”

Frowning but dissuaded, Newt removed his hand from Roscuro's shirt and mumbled, “I just wanted to make sure he was alright.”

“He just said he's fine. You don't have to undress him to prove it.” Percival chided, pulling Roscuro back towards him by his belt buckle. Roscuro stumbled for a moment but remained upright. Roscuro proceeded to tuck his shirt back into his pants and buckle up his vest, only pausing when he realized he was still missing a glove. Looking at Newt, Roscuro held his hand out wordlessly, and Newt pouted.

“Can't I hold onto it?” Newt asked, removing the glove from his pocket but not yet giving it up. When Roscuro's hand didn't retract, Newt instead asked, “Can I trade you for it?”

Curious, Roscuro lowered his hand and tilted his head. Newt peered up at him with a suddenly sly smile, bargaining, “I just want you to shake or nod your head to what I'm going to ask.” He said, holding the glove tightly. Roscuro tensed. Percival narrowed his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Newt opened his mouth and began to ask, “Are you or are you not— _mmph!”_

“That's _enough_.” Percival gritted, hand clamped tight over Newt's mouth, more than peeved. “You can rattle off your little fantasies at home but you will _not_ bring it here.”

“P-Percival!” Newt huffed from behind his palm, struggling to break free all the while Roscuro watched with mild concern.

“Give him his glove back,” Percival ordered, snatching the offending article of clothing from Newt's hand before he thrust it back towards Roscuro, who took the glove with a hesitant grip.

“You can't stop me from asking if you want to find out!” Newt yelled, smacking Percival's hand off of him, “You can't tell me I'm wrong if you won't let me ask!”

“Ignore him. The concussion he got from the explosion is still causing him confusion.” Percival told Roscuro cruelly.

“I'm not confused!” Newt huffed, jumping from his seat with fists clenched tight, but Percival certainly didn't look impressed.

“That's enough, Newton.” Percival ordered, staring the boy down, “You and I both know that _school_ isn't the best place to have this discussion.”

“Where else do you plan we have it, then?” Newt rebuffed, glancing towards Roscuro as if he would be able to provide back up. Roscuro remained silent, however, pulling his glove back in place as he watched the two of the squabble.

The three of them jolted when the classroom door opened, Roscuro standing to attention with something akin to a gurgle when he saw Samson step into the room, mask removed but fully dressed in officer garb, and she looked just as shocked as Roscuro was.

“You!” She barked, brow twitching, “What do you think you're doing here?”

Unable to respond, Roscuro stood there shaking. In the back of his throat, he made a sort of squeaking-choking noise, and Samson grew tired of his silence. Unbeknownst to Roscuro's enforced muteness, Samson questioned, “What's the matter with you? I asked you a question, boy.”

Roscuro held up his hands, a silent plea for mercy, but Samson still grew irate and reached for her nightstick. With a sharp flick, she extended the rod to its full twenty inches and ordered, “You will speak when spoken to, brat!”

“He's not supposed to speak in public!” Newt suddenly exclaimed, grabbing Roscuro and yanking the man behind him, protecting the officer with his own body. Samson hesitated, frowning at the intervention, but her grip on the nightstick relaxed. Scowling, Newt added spitefully, “As an officer, you would know that, _wouldn't_ you?”

Narrowing her eyes, Samson considered her next words carefully. Deciding not to poke the sleeping bear too much, she condensed her nightstick back into its compact size and muttered snidely, “So Grindelwald _wasn't_ exaggerating. How... cute.”

Even though Newt glared at her, though, she regained her calm demeanor and instead addressed Percival, “Mr. Percival Graves, I apologize for my intrusion.”

“An apology to my TA would be much more appreciated.” Percival sniped, trapping Samson at another pause before she continued.

“I am Officer Samson. I was assigned to you by the Superintendent personally.” She introduced herself, although Percival didn't seem to hear her.

“Then consider yourself unassigned. Whatever it's for, I don't need it.” He declined, crossing his arms over his chest and reclining back in his seat, “You can go.”

Samson blinked, trying not to be offended, and admitted, “I... don't believe you have the authority to do that, sir. Ever since the terrorist attack, Superintendent Graves is keen on ensuring you are protected.”

Newt blinked, and at the same time, he and Roscuro turned to look at Percival in surprise, although the man seemed intent on subverting their gazes by locking eyes with Samson instead.

“Tell Superintendent Graves that I am a man in my thirties. I can protect myself.” Then, he gave a gesture to Roscuro and said, “In fact, one of your men is already here. I don't think I need a guard, much less two.”

Frowning, Samson stood with her hands clasped before her and said, “This... officer is hardly suitable for protecting a high-priority individual such as yourself, Mr. Graves. I will remain as your personal guard.”

Grimacing, Newt broke into the conversation and asked, “I-I'm sorry, please tell me I'm gathering this improperly—Are you implying the bomb was intended for Percival?” Just as suddenly as Newt asked the question, Roscuro's hand snatched out and grabbed Newt by the wrist, squeezing so tightly that the redhead flinched in pain.

“Please,” Percival huffed, looking at Newt with a smile to calm him, “What's anyone going to have against some washed-out science teacher?”

With a pinched look, Newt clicked his tongue and left Roscuro's side to slide back into his seat beside Percival, placing a hand on the man's arm. “This is serious,” Newt told him, genuinely concerned now, “If you're related to the Superintendent, then-”

“Then nothing,” Percival interrupted, taking one of Newt's hands in his own and lacing their fingers together. Samson eyed them silently while Percival continued, “I have no power over my father and anyone with half a brain could see that. I'm a _teacher._ Do you really think I'd still be teaching high-school chemistry if I was able to have any decision-making power over my dad?”

“B-but,” Newt began to argue, scooting ever closer to him, then glancing over his shoulder at Roscuro, standing tense and staring at Percival intently. Percival still looked completely content, however, and he placed a reassuring kiss on Newt's fingertips before glancing meaningfully at Roscuro.

“Besides, if you think I wanted to keep a low profile, do you really think I'd be with _you_? You can't keep your pretty face out of the papers.” He flirted, and Newt actually laughed albeit shyly. Percival let go of Newt's hand just to stroke his cheek, then turned back to Samson and said, “So I'm alright without you, thank you very much. You can tell my dad that he's worrying far too much.”

With a critical eye, Samson looked over Newt and Percival contemplatively before saying, “With all due respect, I don't believe I will, Mr. Graves. I do not plan on shadowing you physically, not at all, but I _will_ be keeping a very close eye on you.” With a sharp look at Newt, she added, “I will make sure you remain safe no matter what sort of... company you keep.” And then, with a glance at Roscuro, she finished, “And I will make sure potential threats are taken care of, with or without your knowledge.”

With a huff, Percival muttered a tad sarcastically with a raised brow, “A little dramatic.” When Samson shot a sharp look back at Percival, he told her with a grimace, “Look, I know it may seem like an important job, what with it coming from the Superintendent and all, but it's not like anyone's out for my life. You'll realize this within a week.”

“I guess we will just wait and see, sir,” Samson grunted. When Percival still looked displeased, Samson decided to finish the conversation there and instead regarded Roscuro. “ _You_.” Roscuro went stiff, head snapping to attention towards her, “We're going to have a _long_ discussion about... this.”

Roscuro trembled, not looking forward to whatever they would discuss, but when she clicked her heel against the linoleum and performed a sharp about-face, Roscuro quickly fell into step behind her, following her out of the classroom with only a brief glance over his shoulder towards his lovers. Newt offered him a meek wave while Percival offered him a smile, knowing he needed to reassure him just as much as he needed to reassure Newt.

Samson led Roscuro down the empty halls until they reached the security offices, which she promptly shoved Roscuro into as soon as the door was open. Roscuro stumbled inside, but when he was certain it was only them in that office, he tore off his mask, ripped open the collar to his vest, and stared pointedly at Samson, who scowled right back at him. With a surprisingly stern stare, Credence pointed a stiff finger at Samson, then jutted it towards the shock collar around his neck.

“Ah,” she said, understanding crossing her eyes before she stepped forward and yanked Credence's chin up, observing the collar, “I see Grindelwald has you locked up in this contraption. No wonder.” With a click, the collar was sliding off of Credence's neck, and as soon as the metal box was no longer pressed against his throat he spoke;

“What are you doing?”

Samson blinked at Credence with a frown, shock collar still in hand, and she said in a monotone voice, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Superintendent Graves didn't say anything about Percival needing a bodyguard.” Credence explained, squeezing his hands into fists and trying to keep his voice from trembling with little success.

“Yes, well,” Samson sighed, tossing the shock collar onto the table beside the security monitors, “Grindelwald expressed his desire to find a distraction for the Superintendent. What better way than by putting his son out of commission?”

Clenching his jaw, Credence pointed out, “That wasn't Grindelwald's order.” At that, Samson looked genuinely surprised. She took a moment as if waiting for Credence to change his mind. When Credence didn't however, Samson cleared her throat and crossed her arms.

“I made the executive decision to ignore that order,” Samson claimed, brows raised high, “He was under intense emotional duress. We all know the Superintendent is a more pressing matter.”

“You can't do that. If Grindelwald finds out, he'll be angry.”

“And if the Superintendent isn't made a priority, our entire existence will be destroyed.” Samson argued, shaking her head, “You can't be so stupid that you can't realize that.”

Biting back a few choice words, Credence struggled to insist, “Grindelwald gave you an order. He told you to make S-Scamander a priority.” This time, Samson gave pause. She considered Credence's words with a frown, staring at the young man critically, almost as if she didn't believe it was him.

“Grindelwald told me you and Scamander were... intimately related,” She mentioned, lifting a brow, “Considering I found you sneaking into the very classroom he works out of, I thought it was a proper assessment.”

Credence went rigid. “I-I...”

“Are you telling me you would rather I focus on getting rid of your lover than your old high school teacher?”

Credence ground his teeth, mind and heart racing. It was supposed to be an easy answer, but the question itself was incorrect. Newt wasn't Credence's lover. He was his partner and only _one_ of his partners. If Credence was going to call _anyone_ his lover, it would undoubtedly be Percival.

In a quiet but decisive voice, Credence told Samson, “Do as Grindelwald says, Samson.”

Haughty, Samson claimed, “You aren't my commander,” but Credence remained stern.

“I said,” Credence repeated, taking a step towards her and staring her down with a cold gaze, “Do. As. He. Says.”

Samson's mouth hung open, a voiceless question locked in her throat, but the longer Credence remained stoic, the more Samson's confidence broke. Soon, her jaw snapped shut with a click. With a touch of uncertainty, Samson relented, “Fine. I'll focus on Scamander instead.”

“Good.” Credence mumbled, backing down now that he knew Percival was out from under her radar. Sucking in a slow breath, he said, “That's... that's what Grindelwald expects.”

And when Credence turned away to pull the shock collar back on himself, Samson said coolly, “It's good you have finally realized your place.”

With his back still turned towards her, Credence closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then slid his mask back on.

The very next day, Newt woke to an email from Greylock which he read while brushing his teeth. Percival was taking a shower just beside him, the curtain closed to keep the water from spilling out. When Newt reached the end, he spat out a mouthful of toothpaste and said loud enough for the man to hear, “Greylock is offering on-campus tours. They want me to go before the Spring semester starts.”

Percival hummed from the other side of the curtains, the sound barely audible over the _ratatat_ of the water on linoleum.

“When is it?” Percival asked, pushing the shower curtain back far enough to peer at Newt who was quickly rinsing his mouth out. When the redhead lifted his head again, Percival bit back a laugh at the frothy line of paste on Newt's chin.

“It's next Wednesday...” Newt mumbled, perturbed, “That's a school day. Don't they have class?”

“Universities typically let out a little earlier than high school,” Percival explained, getting back under the water to make sure there were no suds on _his_ face. When he was clear, he turned off the faucet and grabbed his towel, wrapping it firmly around his hips. By the time he opened the curtains again, Newt had washed his face free of dribble and was looking over the email again.

“Well _we_ still have class,” Newt complained, brows furrowed. With a touch of regret, Newt muttered, “I don't really need a campus tour anyways. I'll just be doing online courses.”

Frowning, Percival mentioned, “You won't be taking online courses forever. Why don't you go? Visit the university you'll be going to. Go see the sights! Take a little vacation before vacation.”

Startled, Newt turned to Percival and asked, “By myself?” Percival couldn't help but laugh.

Wrapping his arms around Newt's middle and pulling him close, Percival said confidently, “It'll be _fun_ , Newton. Exploring the world without an old man like me slowing you down, doing whatever you'd like whenever you'd like.”

Still frowning, Newt settled his arms over Percival's and leaned back into his wet chest. “It doesn't sound like fun...”

“I'm sure you'll change your mind,” Percival chuckled, kissing Newt on the cheek, “Besides, I'm only a call away. You're going to have to give it a shot eventually, though. You won't be able to take _every_ class online.”

With a heavy sigh, Newt admitted, “I know. I just... Do you really think _now_ is a good time to go? With everything that's happened recently?”

“What 'everything?'” Percival prodded, letting Newt slide out of his grip so that the redhead could clean off his toothbrush and set his IGlass aside.

“I just mean—the _protests_. The _Thinning._ The _bomb”_ Newt listed, punctuating each word with a wave of his hand, “If I go now, won't it look like I'm... Running away?”

“Ah,” Percival sighed, standing up straighter as he watched Newt walk away. When Newt vanished from the bathroom, Percival allowed himself a moment to dry off, then followed him out.

Newt sat on their bed, head in his hands. Percival ignored him in favor of pulling on some clothes, at least enough to no longer need the towel. As soon as he felt adequately covered, he stood before Newt and waited until the young man peeked up at him. With arms crossed, Percival spoke, “Newt...”

“I know,” Newt cut in, hiding his face again, “It's ridiculous. Theseus would think I'm mad...”

“It's not ridiculous.” Percival rolled his eyes. When Newt didn't look back up at him, Percival lowered himself to his knees with a tired huff. “Newt,” He said again, putting his hands on Newt's arms, though he didn't force the man to uncurl, “These protests mean a lot to you. It's good, being passionate about something like this, something so selfless. I love it, your passion. Your commitment to the students is admirable. You care so much about them, about their future that you're willing to put yourself in the line of fire for it.”

Finally, Newt began to unravel. He looked at Percival from between his fingertips, his cheeks red but a frown still set firmly on his face. Percival didn't let it intimidate him. Instead, he kept eye contact with Newt and he said to him, “But you can't put aside your own future for this. This is your education, Newt. This is your _life_.”

Stroking Newt's arms, Percival asked him, “Don't you think the world would rather hear out a man who has _knowledge_ about what he's fighting against than some high school graduate?”

Newt's mouth twisted, unable to disagree and unhappy for that fact. When he gave a reluctant nod, Percival reiterated, “Go see Greylock. Take a few days to yourself—no protests, no responsibilities, no tired old men hanging off your arm. See what's waiting for you out there.”

Glancing between Percival's eyes, Newt asked anxiously, “Are you really sure it's okay?”

Percival smiled at him, pulled him into a kiss, and said, “Absolutely.”

When Samson received the notification that Newt accepted the invitation to the campus, Credence felt his stomach clench. She looked at him from the opposite end of the barracks, but Credence quickly averted his gaze, afraid of being confronted. He pulled on his armor piece by piece, wondering just what he might have gotten Newt into.

 


	13. Greylock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, she's who you think she is.

The school remained mostly empty throughout the rest of the week. Percival only taught three out of five of his usual classes, and even then it was only to three to eight students at most. His fifth period was supposed to have the most attending that year, and now he only lectured to three trembling teens who were only there because they were on the brink of failure. Percival didn't pity them. They weren't here for his pity, they didn't need it.

Newt spent his time worrying, much to Percival's amusement. Together they had already bought Newt plane tickets and booked a hotel room. While Percival had suggested Newt go for the whole week, Newt decided only to stay three days. This meant he wasn't actually going to be leaving until the day before the tour, only to come back the day following. Percival didn't think it was going to be enough time for Newt to get a feel of the town around Greylock, but Newt was already anxious about being completely alone in an unfamiliar city.

“I'm going to get lost,” Newt complained over lunch that Monday, nervous about getting on the plane the very next morning. “You're going to have to come get me. I'm going to end up in bloody New Hampshire for all I know.”

“That's not going to happen,” Percival chuckled, finishing up his own lunch while Newt had barely taken the first bite, so lost in thought he was.

“What if I get mugged, Percival? I won't have a way to call you!” Newt gasped, staring wide-eyed into the distance.

“There's a phone at the hotel.” Percival hummed, trying not to smirk when Newt gaped at him dramatically.

“You're supposed to reassure me!” Newt yelped.

“I am! _All_ hotel rooms have phones available.” Percival grinned, and Newt angrily kicked Percival's chair.

“About being _mugged!”_ Newt emphasized, and Percival made a noiseless 'o' with his mouth.

“Well, I'm _sure_ that won't happen, Newton,” Percival said in the least confident voice he could muster. When Newt kicked his chair again, Percival laughed aloud. Although Newt looked positively miffed, Percival grabbed the young man's chair and pulled him ever closer, placing a trail of soft kisses along Newt's neck and jaw. Newt turned his head away, brows pinched and lips pursed, but Percival didn't let it dissuade him from pushing.

“You're going to be just fine, Newton,” Percival sighed, sliding a hand onto Newt's knee and giving it a sot squeeze, “Just take it one step at a time, alright? You're going to have fun there.”

“Can't you come?” Newt complained, putting his hand overtop Percival's and meeting his eye, “I'd feel better with you with me.”

“Someone has to stay and teach the students,” Percival pointed out, lifting a brow, “Principal Picquery would murder me if I vanished for three days.”

“Your father is the Superintendent. Tell him to cover for you.” Newt suggested brattily, and Percival laughed once more.

“You're going to be fine.” He said again, looking into Newt's eyes for a long moment before he gave him a kiss on the mouth, “I promise.”

Newt gave a long sigh but eventually relented. He gave Percival a handful more kisses before finally relaxing under his touch. By the time class started again, Newt looked and felt much more confident about the upcoming trip.

When the day came to an end, Roscuro found the two of them just getting their things together. Newt greeted him with an excited grin while Percival merely smiled.

“I haven't seen you all week,” Newt sighed, forgoing cleaning up in order to approach Roscuro, who welcomed the redhead with open arms, allowing him to place a chaste kiss upon the bottom-half of Roscuro's mask. “Has it been busy?”

Roscuro shrugged his shoulders, bobbing his head in a so-so manner, and Newt smiled at him just a little bit wider.

Percival, still standing behind his desk and packing away his things, mentioned lightly, “Newt is going to be leaving for Massachusetts tomorrow.” Roscuro's head jerked in surprise, looking at Percival at first, then back at Newt when Percival only nodded.

“Greylock wants me to tour the campus,” Newt explained to the officer, giving a meek smile, “S-since I'll be going there eventually, we decided... why not?”

When Roscuro looked once again at Percival, the older man added softly, “It'll only be for a few days. He'll be back on Friday.” Roscuro pointed curiously towards Percival, and the man lifted a brow before saying, “I'll be staying here. I have work, after all.”

“I'm going by myself,” Newt said with a nervous smile, “I'll get you a souvenir.”

Roscuro was nervous at the thought. He took Newt by the hand and gave him a firm squeeze, one that Newt immediately returned.

“I'm nervous,” He told Roscuro in a quiet voice, as if it were a secret, “I've never really been out on my own before. Even coming here to Ilvermorny, I've had Theseus...”

Roscuro gave him another squeeze, then only let go for a moment so that he could remove his lower mask. Newt's breath caught just as Roscuro pulled Newt in for a long, deep kiss. Percival's movements slowed as he watched the two of them kiss. As Roscuro settled his hands on Newt's hips and pulled him closer, Newt wrapped his arms around Roscuro's neck, pressing them close enough that Roscuro's stiff armor pressed hard against Newt's chest.

When they broke apart, Percival felt himself finally breathe, and he turned his head down before muttering, “I keep telling him he'll be fine, but he won't believe me, of course.”

Roscuro peeked up at Percival, but the man kept his head down, trying to keep his hands busy, but Roscuro could see through it.

Giving Newt's nose a chaste kiss, Roscuro pulled away from the redhead and approached the desk, leaning over it and brushing a hand against Percival's jaw. When the man peered up, Roscuro tried to smile for him. The corners of his lips pulled anxiously, a shy, small smile. Percival stared at him, stared at his lips, face void of emotion while his mind whirred restlessly. He could hear Newt whispering in his mind, 'doesn't he just feel familiar somehow' and all he could think was, yes. He felt so familiar it _hurt_.

Roscuro pulled Percival in for a kiss, slow starting and luxurious. Percival's eyes slid closed, focusing on the sensation, the slide of Roscuro's mouth against his. He focused on the way Roscuro meekly pressed in, tongue inherently timid until Percival greeted him with a confident swipe. Almost immediately after, Roscuro became more greedy, more passionate, holding Percival as close as he could with a table between them. The way he tasted, the way he felt, Percival relaxed into it all, let it fog his mind, let it relax him.

Then, as if suddenly doused with cold water, Percival's mind snapped to attention at the rhythmic caress Roscuro performed on the edge of his cheek. A repeated tempo.

Tap tap stroke. Tap stroke tap. Tap tap tap. Stroke stroke stroke tap tap, stoke stroke stroke tap tap.

U. R. S. 88.

URS 88.

Yours.

Love and Kisses.

Percival pulled away from the kiss, wide-eyed and shaken, but Roscuro merely slipped away as if nothing had happened, making Percival wonder if he had merely imagined the feeling on his skin. There was no way it was morse code. There was no reason to learn such an archaic form of communication in this day and age...

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Percival realized Roscuro had left him to cuddle Newt once more, brushing their noses together and giving him one last kiss before finally leaving the classroom. Percival scrubbed his hand down his face, trying to calm himself before he made a fool of himself.

“Percival?” Newt asked, distracting the man enough from his own thoughts for him to pay attention to the curious redhead, “Are you alright?”

No, Percival wanted to say. No, he was not alright. His mind was currently tearing itself into two, half of him convinced that no one in the _world_ but he and Credence had taken the time to dig up such an old form of language, yet the other part of him reminding the rest that Credence was _dead_ and that morse code wasn't _that_ hard to learn. Anyone could learn a few taps and scrapes if they set their mind to it, really. Just because he and Credence used it to speak at length without uttering a single word didn't mean it belonged only to them.

Rubbing particularly hard on his cheek, Percival cleared his throat and told Newt, “I'm fine. Just... fine.”

And although Newt didn't seem entirely convinced, he didn't push him any further.

The very next morning, Percival dropped Newt off at the airport.

The following three days for both men would prove to be both incredibly different yet, somehow, remarkably similar.

For Newt, it started the moment he arrived in Massachusetts.

Where he expected to merely catch a taxi to his hotel and settle in, he was instead caught by surprise when he noticed a beautiful young woman holding a moderately-sized sign with his name boldly printed on it. Newt felt the blood rush from his face at the sight. The worst part was when he met eyes with the woman and already knew that she had seen and recognized him.

He tried to hide within the crowd of disembarking passengers, squeezing himself in the throng and even crouching down the slightest bit just so he didn't stick out like a sore thumb. He thought about yanking his sweater over his head to hide his obviously red hair, but that seemed a little _too_ conspicuous.

He thought he had successfully avoided the stranger after he had reached baggage claim with a small family of tourists and saw no sign of the woman. He took a breath of relief, quickly located his luxurious suitcase he had borrowed from Percival's collection, and double-checked its contents. After confirming that nothing particularly vital had gone missing from the smaller pockets, Newt turned away from the crawling conveyor belt only to come face-to-face with the woman, who immediately greeted him with an exuberant, “Mr. Scamander!”

He yelped embarrassingly loud, nearly flinging his entire suitcase into the air when he leaped backward. The woman didn't flinch or stop smiling, barely waiting for Newt to regain his footing before saying, “It's so wonderful to meet you! I've heard so much about you.”

“I-I..” Newt stammered, rubbing his hand in firm circles against his chest to keep his heart from leaping right out of his ribs. To stall, Newt cleared his throat noisily, then tried again, “That is... er... Thank you?”

Smiling wider, flashing pearly-white teeth, the woman then jutted her hand out, a sense of grace blanketed by an awkward rustiness. Newt gaped at her hand, startled by the gesture, but eventually took her hand. When he made a move to shake, however, she gripped him tight and laid her other hand right on top of his knuckles.

“Mr. Scamander, I'm delighted to be your chauffeur for your stay here in Massachusetts. Greylock U assigned me personally to attend to your every need and ensure your time is comfortable and worry-free.” She explained to him, eyes sparkling like a million little diamonds. Newt tried not to grimace.

“Oh,” He grunted, trying to both discreetly and quickly remove his hand from her grip, “That's, er...” Her hands tightened over his, trapping him there, “I-I've already booked a hotel, you see,” He tried a bit harder to tug away, but she only pulled him closer.

“Oh, sugar, we know!” She gasped, and this time Newt couldn't hide the cringe at the pet name, “We've already sorted that mess out. We've reimbursed you for the reserved room and found you a much more suitable arrangement.”

“Excuse me?” Newt blurted, eyes going wide, and the woman laughed so suddenly that Newt jumped a second time, although her unwavering grip kept him from going too far.

“Don't worry, sugar! Greylock U is going to take good, _good_ care of you, trust me.” She emphasized with a squeeze of his hand. Right after, she finally dropped his hand only to snatch his suitcase away with barely a second to breathe, moving so gracefully that Newt didn't even feel the luggage leave his hand. “Now come along, Mr. Scamander! Our ride is waiting just outside.” She said, starting forward with a confident strut.

“I-I—M-Ma'am, wait--!” Newt stuttered, scrambling to follow the surprisingly fast-footed lady, having trouble keeping up in the crowded baggage claim area. While she glided towards the exit with her powder-pink flared pencil skirt bouncing with each step, Newt bumped into other patrons and tripped over luggage. Just as she was stepping outside, Newt called out after her, “I don't think--!”

His voice petered out the moment he saw the limousine parked right in front of him. With his jaw hanging open and his eyes peeled wide, he watched as the golden woman opened the door and smiled at Newt with purpose, neatly tucking his luggage inside. With a gesture of her hand, she lured him forwards, winning him over with a delicate, “Come on, honey. I don't bite.”

With a trembling breath, Newt slipped inside the limousine, ears aflame at the realization that people were looking his way with interest, obviously curious as to who he may be and why he seemed so important. The woman waited for him to be seated fully inside before she stepped in, climbing nimbly inside even with the skirt pinched at her knees.

Once the door was closed, the limousine pulled away from the curb and the woman smiled brightly yet again, plucking a clipboard from one of the seats and finally introducing as an afterthought.

“Oh!” She giggled, her pen poised over the clipboard, “Please feel free to call me Missus Kowalski.”

Giving a shaky smile in return, Newt said, “Alright. Then you can call me Newt, please.”

“Alright, Newt,” Missus Kowalski smiled, beginning to take down notes on her clipboard, punctuating the drawn-out moment of silence by saying earnestly, “It's such a pleasure to meet you, sweetie.”

“It's... nice to meet you too,” Newt said in return, squeezing his hands together restlessly. Missus Kowalski smiled much more warmly, then resumed to make notes on her clipboard, leaving them in silence once more. Newt fidgeted, eyes bouncing from Missus Kowalski to the clipboard, then all around the limousine before resting on her once more. Clearing his throat, Newt pointed out, “That's, um... quite antiquated.” Missus Kowalski's eyes immediately snapped up to him, face a study of quiet patience. Newt felt himself sweat and looked away, scrambling to add on, “N-not that there's—there's anything wrong with.... that. It's erm... unique.”

Missus Kowalski blinked twice, then pulled another kind smile before she focused back on her notes. Newt fell into silence, embarrassed by his own bumbling and not wanting to ruin the good mood they had.

When the silence grew too much, Newt spoke again, pointing out, “Greylock never mentioned providing me with a guide... nor did they say they would pay for my lodging.”

Missus Kowalski giggled, then said, “Yes, well they don't usually give students a full ride, either, do they?” Newt flushed and Kowalski smiled wider before setting the clipboard on her lap. “You expressed your desire to remain an online student. While Greylock is absolutely prepared to provide you with this service, we would much rather prefer to see you attending our campus physically. We will not rescind our offer for providing you with full tuition, of course. We merely want to make sure you know that there are.... options.”

Smiling weakly, Newt apologized, “Sorry, but I don't think my mind is going to be changed. The reason why I've decided to take online classes is because I'm currently employed. I don't want to leave my position in the middle of the year.”

“We're aware of your position.” Missus Kowalski hummed, tapping the bottom of the pen against her chin, “Although I wasn't aware that being a mere high school teacher's assistant was something to put your future on hold for.”

Newt paused and stared at Missus Kowalski's feet for a long moment, put off by how she knew his position but not entirely surprised. He knew certain Universities liked to do digging on potential students. Considering they were spending quite a lot on him, he knew he shouldn't assume any other treatment. In fact, he should have been anticipating it.

Clearing his throat, Newt then insisted, “Although the position itself is not one most people desire, I find myself inclined to keep it for personal reasons.”

Missus Kowalski pursed her lips in consideration, then she clipped her pen into place on the clipboard and tucked it onto her lap, hands folded daintily overtop. Keeping her gaze level with Newt's own averted one, Missus Kowalski said softly, “It's a person you're there for, isn't it?” Newt couldn't help but jerk in surprise, his eyes wide and skin pale. Missus Kowalski offered a smile, though it seemed almost pitiful, and she asked him, “Mr. Newt... Can I offer some personal advice?”

Newt didn't speak or nod his head. He merely sat stiffly across from her in the moving limousine, hands curled tight in the vehicle's leather upholstery. Missus Kowalski waited for him patiently, but when it became apparent he was not about to answer, she decided to speak her mind instead.

Gently, Missus Kowalski said, “Young men and women like you don't always realize that you only have one chance at life. You only have one chance to make these decisions, and that what you choose is going to have an impact on your future.” Leaning forward, she insisted, “You have a _good_ opportunity here, Newt. You have a very bright and successful future being handed to you on a silver platter. Many, _many_ other young men and women would _kill_ to have what you're getting.” When Newt still wouldn't look at her, Missus Kowalski took in a large breath, then reached forward and clasped her hand over one of his, jolting him out of his sulk and forcing him to glance her way, even just briefly. She sought his gaze out, and when she finally won it and kept it on her, she intoned seriously, “Don't throw this away, Newt. This is your _future,_ your _one chance_ to be successful. Don't let someone who doesn't have one take yours away.”

Shell-shocked by her words, Newt gaped at her soundlessly. He wanted to ask if she was deranged or if she was being paid to say all this. He wanted to ask what, exactly, she knew about himself and Percival. Such information was so secretive even his own brother had barely found out. If it got out...

His phone chimed with a text message. Newt moved to see who it was, but Missus Kowalski caught his hand right before he could and stole his attention one last time. “Focus on your future, Newton. Focus on what's right here in front of you.” And then, with a dismissive smile, she whispered scandalously, “Make _him_ worry about you this time.”

Successfully enchanted, Newt's body relaxed and Missus Kowalski let go of his hands, her smile stretching into a pleased grin. “Good,” She hummed, eyes alight and glittering. Newt felt almost lightheaded, his pulse unhurried despite the anxiety buzzing under his skin like dull pins. When Missus Kowalski relaxed back in her own seat and asked, “Shall we discuss Greylock's immersive campus?” Newt found all his muscles could allow was a meek nod.

Back at Ilvernormy, Percival sat behind his desk and stared at his phone with a frown. His students, all three of them, were working on book material, leaving Percival to do... nothing. Usually, he spent his time grading papers or working on material for the next day. Ever since the bomb incident and the vastly declined student body, however, Percival found himself completing his work far too quickly. He was left to stare at his phone like some lovesick fool, waiting for Newt to text him back and tell him that he landed safely and that everything was just fine.

He didn't get a response immediately, which was fine, of course. Newt was probably busy, anyways. Getting luggage from the baggage claim and hailing a taxi and logging your arrival at the front desk at a hotel was time-consuming. Newt probably didn't have any time to check his phone between all of this and worrying his pretty little head off needlessly. Percival smirked at the thought. Newt had been so uncertain, but Percival just knew he was going to have a good time.

Putting his phone down, Percival decided to try and entertain himself. His students were faithfully working away, silent in their own right while they focused on the chemical equations and scientific methods and what have you. Percival scrubbed his cheek, a frown appearing on his face. He forgot what he had assigned them. It probably didn't matter all too much in the end, though. The only students that came were potential 10-241 failures. Percival doubted any of them would actually live to the next year.

Leaning back in his seat, Percival uncharacteristically propped his feet up on the desk and groaned. He was old, his body didn't bend the same way it used to, but somehow the position was far more comfortable than plain old sitting. His muscles and tendons were stretching in a way that they weren't used to, eliciting a pleasurable burn to wake up his limbs. Two of his students peaked up at him, amused at his lackadaisical pose, but they resumed their work tirelessly.

The bell rang just as Percival was getting comfortable. He huffed lazily, not wanting to move from the position he had found himself in. His students packed their things away quietly and headed for the door. Or rather, the two girls left without a word. The young boy, however, ended up lingering behind.

When they were alone, the boy wandered up to Percival's desk, backpack slung over one shoulder and water bottle in hand. He looked nervous, a little. Maybe shy, too. Overall, though, he looked troublesome, and Percival knew he wasn't going to like whatever was about to come out of his mouth.

Not waiting for Percival to ask him what he needed, the boy asked, “Mr. Graves, can I ask you a question?”

Settling his hands over his stomach, Percival grunted out, “Go on.”

The boy took in a deep breath, centering himself for whatever it was he was going to ask. He started haltingly with, “I know I haven't been doing that well in your class. I was just...” He took another breath. The door to the classroom clicked open. The boy said just in time with Roscuro's entrance asking, “I was hoping you might be able to offer p-private lessons.”

Percival's brows lifted in surprise. Roscuro froze in the doorway, perhaps also surprised. The stiffness in his muscles certainly seemed to belie it. The boy glanced Roscuro's way fleetingly, a touch more anxious, but he stood his ground and waited for Percival's answer.

And that answer was a very clipped, “I don't do private lessons.”

To which the boy seemed to visibly deflate at. Quickly, however, he offered a follow-up query, “There were rumors that you were tutoring two students _last_ year.”

“And do you see me tutoring them _this_ year?” Percival replied snidely, making the boy's defenses only grow.

“N-no...”

“Exactly. I don't do private lessons.” Percival reiterated, irritated. Roscuro slowly settled a hand on his hip, his body slowly relaxing. The boy glanced Roscuro's way once more, then turned back to Percival.

In a much quieter voice, the boy asked, “Maybe we can t-talk about it later?”

“My answer is, and will always be, no.” Percival groused, removing his feet from the desk and dropping them to the floor, taking on a much more serious posture, “Be it today or tomorrow or the end of the week, I refuse to offer private lessons.”

Disheartened, the boy retreated without another word. It burned Percival's blood to watch him go, his irritation barely dissipating when the door to his classroom slammed shut behind him. Roscuro eyed after the kid, staring at the shut door, then slowly peered back at Percival even when the man was no longer looking.

Roscuro slowly walked over to Percival, standing before his desk. He clasped his hands meekly in front of him, fingers twiddling, body-language seeping with self-conscious timidity. Percival glared up at him initially but forced himself to relax. He was irritated at the student, not Roscuro. He had to remind himself of that.

Taking in Roscuro's posture and searching for something to make himself feel just a little more relaxed, Percival joked, “What, do _you_ want to ask for tutoring too?”

Roscuro fidgeted even more, feet shuffling, head bowed, and Percival felt a familiar heat crawl up his spine at the sight. He looked Roscuro up and down, examining him closely, and when the officer gave a shy nod, Percival couldn't help but smirk.

“Even after hearing me turn down that other student?” Percival hummed, delightedly slipping into the roleplay that Roscuro was so obviously initiating. The officer seemed meek, shrugging one shoulder, turning his head elsewhere in shame. Percival clicked his tongue snidely, then said, “If you're so desperate, then maybe you have to find a way to convince me.”

Roscuro perked at the suggestion. When he sauntered closer, Percival couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement, especially when Roscuro stepped around Percival's desk and slotted himself right between him and the furniture. He pulled himself on top with a graceful glide, settling his boots on either side of Percival's thighs, toes hanging onto the chair. Percival hummed at the display, glancing between Roscuro's legs, then humming, “You've definitely got my attention... but I'm not swayed.”

Roscuro tilted his head, amused, then he reached out and took Percival's hand, pulling it close and settling it on his hip. With Percival's hand there, Roscuro unclasped his vest and untucked his shirt. Percival immediately took the silent gesture as it was, and he pushed his hand underneath Roscuro's shirt, sliding it along his thin stomach, stroking around one pec then the other, only lingering long enough to toy with a dusky nipple. Roscuro's body shifted into the touch, a low sigh coming from beneath the mask.

“Still not entirely convinced,” Percival mentioned, pulling his hand away. Roscuro huffed, tilting his head back down. When Roscuro got an idea, though, Percival could almost feel how sly he felt, and he planted his feet back on the floor between Percival's legs, standing upright once more.

He removed the lower half of his mask, setting it on Percival's desk. With mouth exposed, he offered Percival a shy smile, making Percival's heart ache. Slowly, seductively, Roscuro began to lower himself to his knees. Percival watched him keenly, swallowing thickly the lower Roscuro dropped. As soon as his knees hit the ground, his hands found the lap of Percival's pants and began to hastily undo his belt.

When Percival was exposed, Roscuro deliberately licked his lips and Percival couldn't help the grin that pulled at his lips. “This is a _very_ interesting argument you're posing.” He played, eyes glittering, but his cocky attitude was sucked into his lungs with his breath as soon as Roscuro sank his head down on him. With a shaky exhale, Percival placed a firm hand on the back of Roscuro's head, letting his eyes slip closed as the officer slowly bobbed up and down, lips suctioned tight and tongue curling delicately around the head.

“Mm...” Percival groaned, digging his fingers into Roscuro's hair, scratching lovingly at his scalp the way Credence used to love. It was merely instinct from how often he had done it before, but the delighted sigh and invigorated movements of his tongue belied Roscuro's own enjoyment.

Roscuro was really starting to get into it and Percival was sinking into the pleasure, so much that neither one heard the knock on the door, nor did they realize the door _opening_ until their interrupter blurted in horror, “What the bloody hell--?!”

“Fuck!” Percival gasped, hunching over stiffly to try and cover his indecency while Roscuro coughed and scrambled away, knocking the desk itself back a few inches in his rush to get to his feet. He wiped at his mouth desperately, trying to hide what he had been doing, but from the look on Theseus' face, it was all for naught. Enraged and embarrassed, Percival yelled, “Are you serious?!”

“Am _I_ serious?!” Theseus retorted, eyes wide and face as red as his hair, “Are _you_ serious right now?! Newt hasn't been gone for a whole day and here you are, getting your rocks off by a bloody glorified security guard!”

Roscuro bit down on his bottom lip, what visible part of his face flushed in embarrassment. Percival tucked himself away, embarrassed in his own right, although he didn't feel quite as nervous as Roscuro looked.

“It's not what you think,” Percival claimed calmly, hoping that he could de-escalate the situation by remaining neutral himself, but his lack of reaction only made Theseus angrier.

“Oh, so you weren't just balls deep in this bender's throat?” Theseus spat, making Percival clench his jaw tight and glare at the man, “Did I just hallucinate the fact that you're cheating on my _brother_?!”

“I'm not cheating on him,” Percival said stiffly, still trying to stay neutral, but his own emotions were rising just as quickly. “Newt and I have a consensual polyamorous--”

“Oh, shut up!” Theseus intervened, but Percival soldiered on regardless.

“relationship with Roscuro. He knows we do this sort of thing because he and Roscuro do the same.”

“Don't try to lie to me!”

“I'm not lying.” Percival groused, glaring now at Theseus.

“Like my brother would be interested in something so— _frivolous_!” Theseus scoffed, gesticulating wildly with his hands, “Newton might be an understanding and heartsick fool, but that is no excuse to do _this!”_

“I'm not doing anything!” Percival emphasized, throwing his hands in the air, “Call him and ask if you're so curious about your little brother's sex life! You already thought he wouldn't have been messing around with a man like me, what else are you wrong about?”

“Just because you seduced an innocent—and might I point out _illegal_ in the United States—minor into this sick 'consensual relationship' doesn't mean he would have done so willingly!” Theseus blurted, providing visible air-quotes with a touch of sarcasm. “You're just a perverted old man who grabbed the easiest victim!”

“Newt is not a victim!” Percival yelled, unable to keep the rage in check as he slammed a fist on the table and got to his feet, “He's always had a choice in this relationship, even from the start! His god damned comfort has been the top priority, before my own, even before--!” He cut himself off, rage overwhelmed with a sudden wave of grief and guilt, but he had a point to make. With a tight throat, he uttered, “Even before Credence.”

“Credence?” Theseus huffed, confused for a long moment before recalling the perished senior from the year before, “What does he have to do with this?! Don't tell me—you've been cheating on him this whole time!”

Cruelly, Percival growled, “You don't even know the shit I sacrificed for your god damned brother.”

“Oh please! Forty years old with a stable job and a house of your own and you've made sacrifices for an eighteen-year-old? Did you give him an A-minus instead of a B-plus?” Theseus snidely suggested, stepping up to Percival, uncaring that he was getting in the man's face. Roscuro fidgeted where he stood, unable to chime in or break them apart. In fact, he was afraid to even try. Both men looked thirsty for blood and he didn't want to accidentally make himself their target.

“I _killed_ my _lover_ for your god damned brother!” Percival absolutely yelled, fists clenched, body stiff, trembling in anger, “Newt would have been executed last year if I didn't leak the true grades that year!” Roscuro's head snapped towards Percival, mouth agape. Theseus blinked in surprise, speechless. “I knowingly sent Credence to the grave just for him!”

“You _what_?” A third, unanticipated voice blurted, only to be followed immediately by a loud buzz and gagging. Both Percival and Theseus jerked their heads towards the now convulsing Roscuro, Theseus merely surprised, but Percival absolutely shell-shocked.

“Bloody hell--” Theseus blurted as soon as the convulsions stopped and Roscuro dropped to his knees. He approached Roscuro with two large steps, squatting down beside him and putting a hand on his shoulder, “What was that?!” He huffed, tilting Roscuro's head up by the chin, trying to look through his mask and into his eyes, but Roscuro pushed his hand away from him with an exhausted grunt.

As he propped himself back on his shaking legs, Percival stuttered brokenly, “I—I... You...”

Roscuro's teeth were grinding. He stared at Percival for just a few moments, but when Percival couldn't even string together a sentence, he stormed out of there, throwing the classroom door open with so much raw anger that the hydraulics jammed it halfway open. Still, Roscuro got away in less than three seconds, vanishing down the hall without another word. Percival was left staring after him, heart frozen in his chest and mind burnt out.

Silence descended on the two teachers as they were left alone in the classroom. Theseus slowly rose to his feet. Percival felt his brain doing the equivalent of restarting, checking himself, his surroundings, ensuring he wasn't dreaming or hallucinating. With Roscuro's escape, however, his mind was already creating new memories and explanations, trying to rationalize what Percival couldn't otherwise believe.

And then, just to pour salt in the wounds, Theseus approached Percival, pulled him around, and said, “I don't care what you believe you and Newt agreed on; As soon as he comes back, he's coming back home. You're not going to lay another finger on him.”

Feeling only partially present, Percival whispered, “You can't do that to him. He won't stay.”

“He will as soon as he finds out the truth.” Theseus threatened, only to promptly shove past Percival and leave the room as well. When the door shut for the second time, Percival lowered his gaze, then slowly collapsed back into his chair, entire body numb.

He sounded just like Credence. There was no way it was. Percival was just tired. Roscuro's voice was just... rough. And foreign. Percival had never heard it before. No matter what he _thought_ he heard, he had never heard Roscuro's voice before.

Newt's incessant arguments were suddenly playing over in his mind, but Percival couldn't accept it. He felt physically ill even considering it. Especially because he had just admitted to the hand he had in Credence's death.

“Oh, God...” Percival breathed shallowly, feeling like he was going to simultaneously vomit and fall apart. Never had Percival felt so lost and confused and... _scared_.

Feeling as though he could do nothing else, Percival grabbed his phone and tried to call Newt. The phone rang twice before he went straight to voicemail. Percival sucked in a sharp breath as Newt's pre-recorded voice droned on about how he's busy and to leave a message. He ran his hands through his hair, feeling his nails catch on the gelled knots, and he slammed the end call button with a sudden fury. Planting both elbows firmly on the table, Percival pressed his thumbs into the space between his brows, breathing noisily through his mouth, trying to just—just-- _he didn't know_. He needed to just _stop thinking._

Throwing himself back against his chair, Percival ran his hands through his hair a second time, then a third, feeling as if his entire body was trying to jump-start itself, nerves bursting with stinging energy only to simmer out in waves, leaving him exhausted and numb and empty. He was being scorched from the inside and there wasn't a way to just turn it off.

The absolute last thing he needed was another damned visitor, but when he heard another knock on his door, he felt like he might just explode. He wanted to yell at whoever it was to just go away. He didn't want to say a word. He felt like if he tried to speak he would just throw up. When the door began to open, Percival squeezed his eyes shut, head already throbbing with the noise he knew was coming.

“Mr. Graves?” Came a woman's voice this time, and Percival's eyes popped open, locking onto the meek-looking brunette standing in his doorway. He recognized her as a faculty member, but it took him an embarrassingly long moment to remember her as Ms. Goldstein, a U.S. History teacher. He didn't greet her, didn't ask what she needed, but she didn't need him to before she mentioned, “I thought I heard yelling... Is everything okay?”

Percival didn't know how to answer. Ms. Goldstein was in no way an acquaintance with Percival, much less a friend. There was no way Percival was going to open up to her.

“Everything's fine,” He said, perhaps a bit breathlessly, perhaps a bit strained. Ms. Goldstein continued to look concerned, but she didn't argue. She didn't leave either, however, which definitely was not the outcome Percival wanted.

He was torn between yelling at her to leave and merely leaving himself, but he didn't get to decide, in the end. Ms. Goldstein made the first, and subsequently final, move. She took a step into Percival's classroom, paused in a moment of hesitation, then offered, “If you ever need someone to talk to...”

Closing his eyes again, Percival remarked, “Thank you, Goldstein.”

Ms. Goldstein anxiously rubbed her hands together, hesitated a moment longer, but eventually bowed out of the room, heels clicking as she exited.

It wasn't anything fulfilling or a cure, but Goldstein had successfully distracted Percival enough to allow the anxiety to pass. The man took a deep breath, regained his bearings, and prepared for the remainder of the day. He would get through it even if he had to push more pressing concerns to the back of his head for the time being.

Back in Massachusetts, Newt tucked his phone into his back pocket after turning the device on silent. Percival would probably be upset, but Newt wouldn't be able to help it at this point. Missus Kowalski was already leading him around the campus, describing the lively atmosphere, complimenting the student body and the faculty, even bringing Newt's attention to the many amenities they offered their students—so long as they kept their grades in check, that is.

In a word, Newt was awestruck. The campus had a lot more to offer than mere online classes, which Newt had already known, of course, he just didn't expect it to be _this_ much more. The city around them was beautiful, the people attending campus intelligent and open-minded. The professors inspired a desire for knowledge so intense that Newt almost wanted to sit in a lecture and start taking notes. If Missus Kowalski hadn't pulled him away by the arm, he was almost certain he would have tried.

“Of course, Greylock isn't all just lectures and learning,” Missus Kowalski grinned, leading Newton through the intricate hallways and down stairways, “As a top-priority student, you would be given on-campus living quarters, twenty-four access to the library and its contents, twenty-four access to the computer laboratory equipped with programs such as Photoshop, Indesign, Illustrator, Aftereffects, Maya, and so on. You will be given the first pick of classes at the start of each semester. You will be given priority over other students; if you attempt to enroll in a full class, you will be given the seat of a student with a lower GPA. You will be given your textbooks a week in advance from the other students in order to ensure you receive the necessary material...” With a flourish she turned towards Newt and gave a wink, saying reassuringly, “As you can see, we take very good care of our students here.”

“Y-yeah,” Newt muttered, still following her along the hallways, trying to absorb everything around him while still keeping up with her. For a woman in a tight pink skirt and high-heels, she moved as fast as night.

“And, needless to say, such amenities would be impossible to provide if you remain an online student,” She continued to point out, turning back around so she walked forward, golden curls a-flounce, “But Greylock isn't the only thing you'll gain if you do become a campus-going student.”

With both hands, she pushed open the doors she was headed towards, emitting them outside of the building and face-to-face with the bustling city Greylock resided in. It was supposedly a small town, according to Missus Kowalski, thriving almost entirely on college students and their families. It was only midday and the streets were abuzz with activity. Cars were parked up and down the roads, but it seemed like most preferred to walk to where they needed to go.

Everywhere Newt looked, there were people arm-in-arm, groups of young men and women chatting delightedly, not a single person on their own. They were all so welcoming, all so charismatic, and Newt...

Newt turned away from the glamour and instead asked Missus Kowalski, “I think I'd rather see the library, honestly.”

“Pardon?” She blurted, surprised and perhaps a touch disappointed. Spinning around, she saw Newt already heading back inside, curious eyes searching. This time, Missus Kowalski had to chase after him, a little dumbstruck and asking, “You don't want to see what's around town? Mingle with your contemporaries? Discover what the nightlife might bring?”

“I'm here to learn, Missus Kowalski. I'd rather find out what learning I can do here.” Newt explained a bit blasé, shrugging an indifferent shoulder and continuing on his way.

Still trailing behind him, Missus Kowalski said, “Well, you never know who you might meet around the town! Maybe an interesting young man or woman? Like-minded acquaintances? Maybe even enjoy the frivolities of the younger generation?”

Newt cast her a curious glance before pointing out, “That's not necessary...”

“Why does it have to be necessary?” Missus Kowalski pushed, grabbing Newt by the arm to keep him from walking any further, “You're a young, energetic man, Newton. You need to enjoy your life to the fullest. Besides, what do you plan to do after class or during the break if not explore the city, hmm?”

“Study?” Newt suggested flatly, but such an answer was no good for Missus Kowalski.

“You have twenty-four access to the library and the computer lab. You'll end up needing time away from _studying_ too.” She smiled, pulling Newton along, “At least let me take you on a _short_ walk around? Let you get used to the buildings here and there?”

“The city wasn't mentioned on the tour...” Newt mumbled, but Missus Kowalski merely pulled him more and more, bringing him back towards the exit.

“As I've pointed out multiple times already, Newt, you're a very important person to Greylock,” Missus Kowalski smiled, linking their arms together and walking him off campus, “And we want to make sure that you are given the _proper_ tour.”

 


End file.
